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537. The Chilcotes ; or. Two Widows. By L. Keith., 20 

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539. Two Pinches of Snuff. By William Westall 20 

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543. Ancient American Politics. ByHughJ. Hastings 30 

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[Continued on Third Page of Cover J] 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE 


H IRovel 


/ 

By GILLAN vase 



A novel U a subjective epopee, wherein the author 
begs permission to treat the world after his fashion : 
the question therefore is, has he a fashion 1 the rest 
will attend to itself.— (jotxnn 



NEW YORK 

HARPER <fc BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1889 







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CONTENTS 


Ckaptis * ' Pjiob 

I. Rows. •. ‘ 1 

II. My First Love Y 

III. 'A €ommon Person Beneath Criticism 14 

IV. Ballyacora Hall . • 18 

V. Life and its Attractions 24 

VI, Prince and Dame de Compagnie 29 

VII. Un Grand Petit Homme 83 

VIII. Gracieuse . . • 3Y 

' IX. A CoTELETTE, A CaT, AND' A CaPTAIN 42 

X. Josef Aufdermauer 48 

XI. The Reason Why 63 

XII. The Fohn 60 

XIII. A New Th^rese 64 

XIV. My Little Mistress 69 

XV. Th^rAse Y'l 

XVI. A Solemn Vow 84 

XVII. In the Schenkstube 86 

XVIII. A Blow for a Kiss 98 

XIX. Unsolved Problems 97 

XX. Prosit! 104 

XXL “Down to Penzance” Ill" 

XXII, A Lion in the Way 117 

XXIII. As A Woman 122 

XXIV. A Letter 129 

XXV. Letter Number Two 133 

XXVI. Aileen ■ 136 

XXVII.' A Live Lord 160 

XXVIII. Peter’s Nick 163 

XXIX. My Mother — The Wind 173 

XXX. Taken to Task 179 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Chaptkb , Pao* 

XXXI. “Bim, Bim, Bim!” Said the Bell 186 

XXXII. He and She Again 193 

XXXIII. An Inevitable Road 203 

XXXIV. In Schloss Mandelsloh 209 

XXXV. Louis l’ Anglais 219 

XXXVI. A Small House at Clapham 231 

XXXVII. A Marriage and a Renunciation 244 

XXXVIII. Poor Mabel! 269 

XXXIX. An English Prophetess and a Swiss Professoress . . . 267 

XL. Humble Pie 273 

XLI. Coals of Fire 279 

XLII. A Motherless Babe 282 

XLIII. Two Brothers 291 

XLIV. Mrs. or Miss Smith 300 

XLV. A Deserted House 302 

XLVI. The Sister Eveline 811 

XLVII. A Momentous Question 318 

XLVIII. “Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go.” 326 

, XLIX. 27 Spinster Lane, Clapham 332 

L. The Voice of Society 338 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE 


CHAPTER I. 

ROWS. 

“ I spell my name with the Y.” — Esmond. 

It was a quarter to seven when the row began — just before 
dinner-time. 

Notice that I say the row. A row was as common in our 
house as — say, in Ireland, or in the Chamber of Deputies in 
France. A row wouldn’t have been worth recording. 

But this row taught me two or three things which I never 
afterwards forgot. 

Is it not something for a man to learn — a man in futuro, for I 
had been hut recently breeched — that woman is as false as she is 
fair ? and that fathers and mothers may be — well, never mind 
what ! 

I was in the hall. Let me confess the truth. I had been 
robbing my parents of sundry pears and sundry bunches of 
grapes, and conscience had driven me into a recess behind a 
naked and extremely chubby boy in white marble, who was 
always aiming at every one who passed him with a bow and 
arrow. Down behind him I crouched, waiting for an opportu- 
nity to escape. 

I was rather interested in this hoy, for mamma’s friends used 
to say that I was very like him (when mamma was there), and 
used to poke their fingers in my cheeks, and pull my curls, and 
call me “ a little love,” and ask me how many I meant to shoot 
when I began. 

I wondered how many he shot. I never saw him hit anybody 

1 


2 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


myself, but Tlierese, mamma’s French maid, said he did some- 
times. And she was all dimples and white teeth when I asked 
her, and sobbing before she had answered, her pretty hand upon 
her bosom as if a sudden pain had sprung up there and was 
more than she could bear. 

“ Did he ever hit you, Therese ?” I asked. 

“ Hit me ? Oh, but he is foolish, the little one ! He is al- 
ways hitting me, my little monsieur.” 

“ When, Therese ?” 

“ All the days, petit. When men smile at me, and they do 
sometimes^ why I — I feel a pain here, and that is his arrow.” 

She was showing all her pearls again. 

“ Does he hit you when I put my arms round your neck and 
tell you that I love you better than any one in the world ? — no, 
not better than my nurse,” I added, with a great feeling of com- 
punction. 

“ See how he knows already how to make love, the little one,” 
laughed Therese. “ Wait till you are a man, mon enfant^ and 
break hearts then.” 

“ Is it good to break hearts ? Papa whips me sometimes when 
I break other things.” 

“Good? I do not know. It is very easy and hien drole ; 
funny, you call it ; and it makes you laugh, and the other cry. 
That is why I laugh and cry and sing and dance : Tra, la, la, 
la, la. L'amour — But what can a hehe like you know about 
love ?” 

Very little, I dare say. But, as she laughed, I felt a sharp, 
sharp pain in the spot where my heart went pit-a-pat, keen as 
an arrow. I looked up in sudden passion to the marble image, 
still levelling his bow — yet with a difference. Some effect of 
falling light or shade had changed his arch smile into a cruel 
sneer. 

Having introduced you to Therese, let me go back to the 
row. 

From my hiding-place I had a good view of the staircase, and 
could also see every door leading into the hall. To my right 
was my father’s room, the oaken door hidden behind another 
covered with baize which swung to and fro on noiseless hinges. 
Beyond that was the dining-room, its door slightly ajar, as I 
had left it when I had fled before William and the butler with 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


3 


my booty. For I had been tempted down into these lower 
regions as our first mother was tempted — by lust after forbid- 
den fruit. 

I was looking earnestly into this room in order to take ad- 
vantage of the first opportunity for escape. The butler’s calm 
face was discomposed; he had found out the disarrangement 
of his dishes, and was, no doubt, inwardly swearing revenge. 
I watched him repair the breaches I had made, noiselessly put- 
ting the master-touch to the tout ensemble^ while William stood 
at his side, possibly profiting from the lesson he was receiving, 
but with a far-away look in his honest blue eyes and a pallor 
over his usually ruddy cheek, hardly like the visible and out- 
ward signs of inward satisfaction. 

“ The de’il tak’ him,” muttered the butler, who was a Scotch- 
man ; “ my finest pears and juiciest bunch of grapes !” 

Of course. Did he think I’d risk my reputation for nothing ? 

“ Cruel and heartless,” murmured William, “ and yet so pret- 
ty, so pretty.” 

I was a pretty boy — I had been told that many and many a 
time (by mamma’s friends principally) — but cruel and heartless ! 
O’ho, William, look out for nips !” 

And then they turned together, and my opportunity was come. 

But no ! a footfall oU the stairs. A sweet, saucy face appear- 
ing above the banister. I slunk back again into my corner. I 
couldn’t trust Therese. She might connive at my escape or 
might betray me, just according to her humor. 

Her humor was dangerous now. Her eyelids were reddened, 
and in the centre of each pale cheek burned a crimson spot ; 
yet out of her brown eyes flashed a light so intense that the 
staircase seemed illuminated with it, and her mouth was wreathed 
with dimples. Somebody had angered Therese, and somebody 
was going to get punished for it. 

She came down the broad oaken steps slowly ; her shapely 
little head erect and haughty, her smiling lips quivering a little. 
As she passed the statue behind which I was crouching, she 
turned her sparkling eyes full upon it, clenched her little fist, 
and laughed. Then more quickly, and with an air of passionate 
resolution, she passed on to my father’s room, pulled open the 
baize-covered door, and rapped sharply upon the oaken one be- 
hind it — once, twice. 


4 


THKOUCill LOVE TO LIFE. 


My father himself appeared in answer to the summons. 

As she raised her beautiful, agitated face to his red, pompous, 
overbearing one, I felt rather than saw that a second spectator 
had appeared upon the scene. A second heart began to beat in 
quick unison with mine. 

“ What is it ?” said my father. 

“ It is madame who has bidden me to go,” answered the girl, 
sobbing. “ It is madame who has raised the foot to kick me 
out of the house. Is it that I am a slave to lick the dust at 
madame’s bidding? I am come to say my adieux to monsieur. 
Je rrCen vaisP 

“ No, you don’t,” said my father. 

“ I am sensible of the kindness of monsieur,” continued The- 
rese ; “ I have a heart— I. And then le 'petit will cry after me. 
But I have my honor, too, and ‘ slut ’ and ‘ hussy ’ are words 
that stick like pitch and burn like fire. Je mfCeri vais^ 

As she uttered these words for the second time, the shadow 
of a sound fell over my ears and deafened them. Was it Eros 
himself crying out in tones of smothered agony : “ Therese ! 
Therese ! Mamsell Therese !” 

I saw my father’s arm around her waist, and her face raised 
to his with a maddening look upon it — a look full of simulated 
coyness and sly invitation, and then — 

And then the grapes in my hand turned sour as vinegar, and 
the pears in my trousers pockets heavy as lead. 

The row was at its fiercest when I became conscious of it. 
There was a rustle of silken skirts, a stamping of heavy feet, 
hoarse threatenings, and through all, the sharp sound of a wom- 
an’s voice, envenomed with bitter sarcasm and biting innuendo. 
It ended with the usual wind-up of hysterics, during which my 
mother was carried away prostrate. 

Yet, though she fasted and my father dined, the victory was 
hers, and I knew it as well as any one. 

I was no longer afraid of discovery. Pain had driven out 
fear. I walked boldly into the dining-room, and, sitting down 
in a corner half hidden by a heavy silken curtain, watched my 
father dine. The butler watched him too, and so did William. 

He didn’t seem to enjoy his dinner much, I thought. He 
took it, as I took medicine, in great gulps, washing all down 
with copious draughts of wine. Once he broke out into a furi- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


5 


ous passion, dashing a full wineglass on to the table, and stain- 
ing the white damask deep red with its contents. 

The dinner was over at last. It seemed a long time before 
the butler and William went away, but they went finally. And 
then he gave up trying to seem not to care. He leaned his 
head upon his hand, so that I could see the silver threads run- 
ning through his hair, and groaned, and struck the table with 
his fist, until all the crystal on it trembled. 

I had been feeling towards him like a judge towards a crim- 
inal ; now my mind suddenly changed its attitude. We were 
both wrongdoers and both suffering. 

“ Papa !” I said ; “ papa !” 

He looked up with a start ; then his blood-shot eyes bright- 
ened,, the heavy frown passed away from his forehead, and his 
lips parted to a smile. 

“ Hoighty-toighty !” he said; “you there, little mannikin?” 

We were both wrongdoers and both suffering, nevertheless I 
had a burning word to say, and meant to say it. Yet my res- 
olution was faltering fast. He was looking at me with a piteous 
longing in his eyes — a longing I knew how to interpret. He 
was not over-sensitive, but the sharp, bitter words of his wife 
might have wounded a tougher-skinned nature even than his, 
and he was bleeding inwardly. He wanted a morsel of the 
only cure for heart-wounds. He was hungering for a fragment 
of love. 

Yet I hung back still, even though he put out both red, 
hard, beringed hands, and would fain have drawn me to his 
knee. 

“ Have a drop of wine, my boy ?” 

Child-like, I abandoned the weapon I held to grasp the one 
he offered. I cried out in a passion, born of the conflict with- 
in me. 

“ It is wine makes you so red and ugly, and I hate it.” 

He half rose and clenched his fist. I drew back, involunta- 
rily ducking my head to avoid the blow I expected. 

But he only laughed, repeating my words as if they had been 
a joke. 

“Makes me red and ugly, does it? Very well, you sha’n’t 
have wine if you don’t like it. You shall have some figs. 
King the bell and bid the lazy brutes bring you some figs.” 


6 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“I don’t want anything to eat, papa. I only want to tell 
you—” 

“ Well?” 

“That—” 

“ Well?” 

“ That — ” And in spite of all my efforts I burst out a-crying. 

“Good gracious, what’s the matter? Tell me what it is, my 
boy. Everything I have is yours. I’ve been working all my 
life that you may have everything you want.” 

“ But I want — ” 

“ Speak out, don’t be afraid.” 

A certain sense of childish dignity came now to my aid. I 
wiped my eyes, drew up my head, straightened my back, and 
spoke out like a man : 

“ I want Therese. I love her. I shall be a man some day, 
and I am going to marry her.” 

If I had sprung up suddenly into a man before his eyes, he 
could not have looked more confounded. Then the humor of 
the thing struck him. He burst into a loud fit of laughter, and 
laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. 

“ You are beginning early, young man.” 

I resented his ridicule almost as much as I had resented the 
foregoing insult. There was no danger of my crying now. My 
heart was swelling high, but it was with pride and indignation. 
My body seemed to swell with it. 

“ And I don’t want — I don’t choose''* I added, haughtily, “ that 
any one shall kiss her but me. William is only a servant. You 
have got mamma, and ought to be content.” 

My argument was simple and childlike enough. But it led 
him back into the old track, wherein his soul had been wander- 
ing so drearily. He seemed to forget — he might well forget — 
that he was speaking to a child. 

“ Yes,” he repeated, “ I’ve got mamma, and I ought to be eon- 
tent. And she’s no French adventuress, come from nowhere, 
and owned by nobody, but a baronet’s daughter, and I ought to 
be more than content. And she leads me the life of a — a baron- 
et’s daughter’s husband, and I ought to be most content. So 
I am ! So I am !” 

But he looked like a wild and furious animal as he got up 
and paced the room, and he looked like an animal bruising its 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. V 

head against the bars of its cage when he brought his fist again 
into thundering contact with the mahogany. 

“ I was once an adventurer myself,” he continued, “ and might 
have been a different man if she — I mean, I might have remained 
one of a beggarly lot. But now I’m Charles Smythe, Esquire — 
with the Y, remember ! And they know me well on ’Change. 
And I could buy up hundreds of pauper baronets and bankrupt 
lords. And I’m a greater man than I ever hoped to be. And I 
ought to be content. Good God ! so I am !” 

He had forgotten that I was there until he caught sight of 
me, pale and terror-stricken. 

“ Go back to your nurse,” he cried, like a man beside himself, 
“ and learn from her to be a better man than your father.” 


CHAPTER H. 

MY FIRST LOVE. 

“ Aber die Natur behauptet mit Nachdruck ihre Rechte, und da sie niemals 
willkurlich fordert, so nimmt sie, unbefriedigt, auch keine Forderung zuriick.” 

Schiller {Anmuth and Wiirde). 

Notwithstanding my opposition, and notwithstanding my 
father’s, Therese had to go the next day, and, to add to my be- 
wilderment and dismay and despair, William went with her. 

There had been a deep, deep reason for that indignant clause 
in my reproach to my father : “ AVilliam is only a servant ” — a 
reason so profound that my childish brain only just perceived, 
and had not yet grasped and defined, it. Surely he could not 
be my rival — he, the only man in the house who ever found 
fault with Therese, the only one who never told her how light her 
step was, nor how glossy her wavy hair, nor how bright were 
her dark eyes, nor how round and smooth her neck, nor how 
enchanting her dimples. Other men said these things, for the 
saying of which I cordially hated them (I felt, but could not ex- 
press), and only William never did. 

Yet a secret instinct showed me that his blame meant more 
than their praise, his pained look of disapproval more than their 
fiattery. Sometimes, behind her back, these sycophants would 


8 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


laugh at Therese, calling her a spoiled chit, a minx, a heartless 
French coquette, and the like, while William would keep indig- 
nant silence or break out into indignant defence, always saying 
that she was a deal better — a thousand times better — than she 
would appear. 

And once I was witness to a scene between these two which 
tended to make my fleeting impression into a permanent, yet 
still incomprehensible, one. 

It was evening, I remember, and my nurse was putting my 
little sisters to bed, while I was intent on finishing a second 
Tower of Babel. I was alone in the day nursery, laying my 
bricks to the time of a tune my nurse was humming in the 
room adjoining, and wondering as I built which voice was the 
sweeter — hers or Therese’s, and which of the two I really loved 
the bej^tto 

Thinking of Therese, I began to fancy I could hear her light 
step on the landing outside, a heavier one following it. I put 
down the brick in my hand and listened intently ; and now I 
distinctly heard a low, sweet, mocking laugh and a scuffle ; then 
a cry of anger. 

I ran to the door, opened it and looked out. 

I knew it was Therese, yet it was not William whom I had 
expected to see beside her, nor had I ever fancied him with his 
arm around her waist and his hand close to her crimson cheek. 

' “ Has he been beating you, Therese ?” I asked. 

She was laughing, showing all her white teeth and dimples as 
she pushed him from her, yet for all that she was in a furious 
passion, her eyes flashing, and her bodice rising and falling like 
the waves of an angry sea. 

“ Has he been beating you ?” I repeated, in my wisdom and 
knowledge of human nature, and I ran to stroke her red cheek 
and lay my own against it. 

“ Yes, he has, he has !” she cried, violently, pushing me from 
her, striking the air with her outstretched hands, and all in a 
tremble from head to foot. “ He has no right to do it. I’m 
not a nun to be shut up in a convent. I’m not eighty yet, to 
have done with life and be ready to die. I’m only a girl, and 
I want pleasure and sweetness and freedom. I will have what 
I want. I will, I will !” 

It was odd to see how rapidly her speech passed on into ac- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


9 


tion, and how emphatic the action made her words. When she 
spoke of not being a nun, she drew her white apron over her 
head and across her dimpled chin, making you scorn the absurd 
idea with herself. When comparing her own blooming youth 
to eighty, she wrinkled her smooth forehead, humped her 
straight back, and drew in her full red lips, shocking you al- 
most as much as if the simulated change had been real. When 
she declared that she would have enjoyment and sweetness and 
liberty, she had raised her longing eyes and parted her coral 
lips as if about to taste heavenly nectar. With that bright 
flush upon her usually pale cheek she had looked then like a fe- 
male Dionysus — goddess of pleasure and the lust of it. 

I turned angrily towards William. How could I know, child 
that I was, whether she were claiming a divine right or stretch- 
ing forth impious hands to clutch a gift from the altar ? I 
only knew that she was beautiful, that her beauty made my 
heart ache, and every fibre in me vibrate, and that I loved her. 

I turned towards William and saw in his face the same feel- 
ing animating mine, only intensified. For while in me it was as 
childlike as my body, in him it was in the full strength of its 
manhood. 

“ Therese, Ther^se !” he cried ; “ Mamsell Therese !” 

I faltered. I still propounded the foolish question upon my 
lips, but I did so now fully conscious that the answer would be 
beyond me. 

“ Why did you beat Therese ?” I asked. “ How dared you 
beat her ?” 

Before he could answer, a gentle but firm summons to my 
nursery forced me to give up the riddle or find an answer to it 
myself. But before leaving the two I saw a sight which so 
complicated it that I was forced to abandon the idea of a solu- 
tion in despair. 

I saw that incomprehensible Therese, who had been twisting 
the corner of her white apron into a hard knot and mercilessly 
lashing her pretty fingers with the same, suddenly dart forward, 
throw herself upon her knees before the footman, and, taking 
his hard hand, press it to her lips. Then she vanished down 
the staircase, leaving William still standing there, like a huge 
image carved in stone. 

Heighho ! There are things in this world hard to understand ! 


10 


TllKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


It was the day after the row that William and Therese came 
together into my nursery to say good-bye to me and to my nurse. 

Oh, that nursery, wherein much bread was cast upon the 
waters, many good seeds sown, which seemed long lost among 
the tares, but which, 1 humbly hope, eventually bore some good 
fruit — I can fancy myself there again, high up among the chim- 
ney-pots, and see again its one smoke-stained window looking 
out upon them, its one solitary unframed print representing the 
rich man feasting with his boon companions and sick Lazarus 
at his gates, its one worn leather-covered easy-chair, wherein sat 
the house’s guardian angel — the one righteous being, I have 
since thought, who saved us from destruction ! 

For the weather outside in the dark heart of the city of Lon- 
don was not more unpleasantly variable than was the weather 
within. Inside, too, there was the change from storm to apa- 
thetic calm, from darkness unrelieved to darkness visible, from 
falling rain to fog impenetrable. Two things we never had — 
the bow of hope and the sunshine ; or, rather, only in that one 
warm heart, where they were no flitting lodgers, but perpetual 
inmates. 

It was a wild and stormy day in late autumn when Therese 
went away. A flerce, dry wind was raging through the city, 
making the windows rattle again and bringing clouds of dust 
against our house. Inside there had been a fresh row, and 
some of its angry breath had risen up to us. Even my nurse 
sighed a little as she sat rocking the baby in the cradle, and her 
mouth twitched at the corners as it did when she was grieved. 

They came in together, side by side, William and Therese, 
and even I was struck by the contrast they presented, the girl’s 
beauty seeming more delicate and lovely than ever compared 
with the man’s strong, square sturdiness, her petulancy pain- 
fully in dissonance with his great gentleness. I remember his 
wanting to relieve her of some trifle, and the sharp way in which 
she declined his help, as clearly as if it happened yesterday. 

Therese was in a dozen different moods as usual, and it was 
impossible to say which mood was the dominant one. She had 
been crying, for her trim bodice still rose and fell convulsively, 
yet she was laughing, too, as merrily as if grief were the best 
joke in the world. She had just spoken so sharply to William 
that the tears had sprung into my nurse’s eyes, and now she 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


11 


looked up into liis face and touched his arm in a manner which 
made the simple action like a passionate caress. 

“ I am come to say my adieux,” she said, in her rich, soft, full 
contralto voice. “ Monsieur talks like a man, hut inadame has 
gained the victory as ever. Madame will have to paint herself 
for the future, or get an Englishwoman to do it. Bon Dieu^ 
une Anglaise /” 

How she managed it Heaven knows, hut for a second she stood 
there transformed before us ; her round shoulders squared, her 
bright eyes half -veiled in ostentatious mock-modesty, her mobile 
French mouth drawn down at the corners, her smoothly fitting 
dress creased and angular. Nay, even her hair seemed to par- 
ticipate in the change, and to fall around her graceful head in 
stiffer curls than usual. In the twinkling of an eye she had 
become an Englishwoman — the typical Englishwoman of the 
Parisian stage. 

“ How funny you look !” said little Florence. 

We all laughed — it was impossible to help it. Even William 
smiled. 

“ Ah, you do not like your countrywomen, you prefer The- 
rese,” said the minx, becoming herself again with a single toss 
of her saucy head. “ But I must go, and all because of the 
jealousy of a woman. Now, I am not jealous — w^o^, I never 
was.” 

“You have no need,” said William. 

“ Who spoke to you, sir ?” she returned, flashing round upon 
him ; “ who wants to know what you think about it ? I never 
forget but you try to make me remember. I am never happy 
but you try to make me miserable. I never taste a good thing 
but you snatch it from my lips. Why was I ever born ? Why 
didn’t le hon Dieu make me old and hateful and ugly ?” 

She was sobbing now, her face buried in her hands, her body 
trembling with the violence of her emotion. 

“ Hush, hush, my dear !” interposed my nurse, gently, rock- 
ing the cradle in which slept my youngest sister, little Aileen. 
“ Those are rough words, and cruel too, when offered in ex- 
ehange for a great gift — a gift worth every other in the world,” 
she added, the tears starting to her eyes. 

William’s ruddy face was pale as death, and his broad back 
bent as if there were an unseen load upon it almost insupportable. 


12 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ You, you are an angel,” sobbed the girl, falling upon her 
knees and resting her head upon my nurse’s lap. “You ought 
to be in heaven, instead of here where it is hell. When I pray 
to the blessed mother of God, it is your dear, patient face I seem 
to see, your faithful breast, pierced as hers was. Bless me, 
bless me before I go.” 

“ God bless you, my child,” said my nurse, “ and teach you 
the difference between gold and dross.” 

“ Amen,” said William. 

“ As for that,” cried Therese, springing to her feet again, “ as 
for that, there may be two opinions. I’ve got a ring, old-fash- 
ioned and ugly, which is pure gold, and I’ve got a bracelet — le 
voila ! — only gilded, but I like the bracelet best.” 

My nurse was silent ; William turned away his head to cough. 

“t/e prefere hien le bracelet'' she continued, defiantly, throw- 
ing back her loose sleeve and disclosing an arm which entranced 
even me, and at which William gazed as if spellbound. Re- 
gardez ! it is pretty, is it not ? I think it is pretty myself — so 
firm, so soft, so round, so dimpled.” She stroked it and touched 
it with her lips. “ And the bracelet looks well upon it. Vous 
trouvez? It isn’t gold, but nobody knows that, and the ring is 
ugly, and I can’t sell it because it was left me by my grand- 
mother for good luck. But I believe in these” — raising her 
round arms again — “ much more than in luck. Therefore I 
prefer the bracelet. Je le prefere bien." 

What a cough William had, to be sure, and how it shook 
him! 

“ As for madame,” continued Therese, pouting, yet dimpling 
too, “ she is as foolish as she is old and ugly. Does she think 
I would have let that great, fat, ugly husband of hers kiss me ? 
Thank heaven, I’m not so hard driven up for kisses as that ! 
I’ve no need to go begging for them. He wanted a kiss — ha ! 
and got a soufflet." 

“ But you did let him kiss you,” I cried, all my anger re- 
awakened, “ you did." 

She laughed, and made as if she would have kissed me, and 
laughed louder still when I drew back in a rage. 

“ I want you all to myself,” I said ; “ I don’t want to kiss 
you if you kiss others too. Go away. No, don’t go ; you shall 
not go.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


13 


“ VoilaP she answered, looking at me with dancing eyes, 
“ the little one is jealous also. He has inherited it.” 

“ Where are you going ?” interrupted my nurse, more sternly 
than I ever heard her speak before. 

“ Going ? Oh, there are a hundred places where I can go. 
I’m not so homeless as madame thinks. I’ve got better blood 
in my veins than she has. And I was never sold to pay my 
father’s debts. Oh, the grand name Smythe ! the lordly name 
of Smythe! Coeur cherV — and here she sank upon her knees 
again — “ I know who you are, and I’d rather have a hair of 
your dear head than all their riches.” 

“ You are a heap, heap better, Mamsell Therese,” interposed 
William, “ than you’d have us fur to think. Other folk builds 
’emselves up, but you pulls yourself down perpetual.” 

“ There you go again,” she cried, on her feet like a flash of 
lightning. “ Why do you make me bad when I am good ? I 
want to be good sometimes. I am a mechante jille^ I know it; 
yet sometimes I want to be good.” 

She was crying loudly again, and William was coughing, and 
there was a regular hubbub in the nursery, for the baby had 
been awakened, and was joining lustily in the chorus. As for 
me, I naturally made what little noise I could, with my arms 
round Therese’s waist, the while I told her, firstly, that she 
should never go, and then, that I would come after her, and 
marry her and bring her back in triumph. I don’t know what 
else I might have said but for a piece of toffy, exceedingly sticky, 
which was suddenly thrust into my mouth, and which complete- 
ly disabled me. But I ran after them down into the hall, and 
saw Tlierese spring into the coach, and William get in after 
her, coughing still. 

Then, just when I had abandoned hope, and made sure she 
wouldn’t, Therese turned her lovely face and looked at me. All 
trace of grief had gone out of it, and it was bright and smiling. 
Nay, I am not quite sure that it was not full of fun at my ex- 
pense. I heard a silvery laugh as they drove off, and a sweet, 
fresh voice carolling a French chanson. I recognized the air, 
and even the words, long years afterwards. 

“Tra, la, la,” sang Therese, with one breaking heart beside 
her, and another breaking heart left behind : 


14 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, 

L’ Amour vous attend la.” 

As if she knew, as if she ever could learn, the cruel enchantress, 
what love meant ! 


CHAPTER III. 

A COMMON PERSON BENEATH CRITICISM. 

“ Es hort doch jeder nur, was er versteht.” 

Goethe {SprucJie in Prosa). 

Only a footman and a lady’s-maid ! for what was Therese 
after all, in spite of her airs and graces — what was she but a 
lady’s-maid, forced to brush my mother’s hair, paint my moth- 
er’s face, submit to my mother’s whims, and take my mother’s 
wages? What difference did it make that she could take a 
sweet revenge along with these things, by many a side glance 
over my mother’s head into the mirror, smiling a little as if she 
were triumphantly comparing nature and art ? 

Only a footman and a lady’s-maid ! while I was Charles Regi- 
nald Smythe (with the Y, remember !), only son to one of the 
richest men in the City, and, as my father told me a hundred 
times, getting on tip-toe to say it, for he was but short and the 
sum vast and majestic, heir to a million — me-illion ! 

Yet for all the apparent chasm between us, the destinies of 
these two were irretrievably interwoven with mine. Fate plays 
us queer tricks ; sometimes making of our own most cherished 
hopes knotted cords wherewith to scourge us ; sometimes fashion- 
ing a lifeboat of our fears, which may become our only refuge 
from the shipwreck of our hopes. 

I was born in London, and, if I may trust my own memory 
in regard to that important event, I was born in a row. If you 
will not trust my memory in this respect, you will allow me to 
draw conclusions, I suppose, and my conclusions all agree as to 
the extreme probability of this premise. For why else should 
rows from my very earliest infancy have come as natural to 
me as my bottle ? 

I suppose, too, that neither rows nor bottle agreed with me par- 
ticularly. I think I ran the gantlet of every disease incidental 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


15 


to childhood before I was two years old, having a very turbulent 
special row of my own with Death on each occasion. And I am 
quite sure that he, like my mother, would inevitably have had 
the best of it, but for one faithful champion who fought for me, 
and who would without the least hesitation have supplied a fail- 
ing bolt to bar him out with her own tender arm, as another did 
before her. 

Need I say that this champion was a woman? For it is the 
women alone who, doing some of the hardest and least rewarded 
work of this world, let others have the credit of it. 

I was baptized in a row. The dispute as to whether my name 
should be Charles, after my father, or Reginald, after the hero of 
the last romance my mother had been reading, was continued 
even at the font, and only settled by the impatient clergyman, 
who cut the Gordian knot by christening me with both. 

Thus I became duly registered and catalogued among my fellow- 
creatures, and in the course of time grew into the knowledge that I 
was I — a little centre around which the universe naturally revolved. 

Once — Heaven knows what prompted me to the effort ! — I 
tried to love my mother. I had got into her boudoir somehow, 
and was sitting on a low footstool near the couch on which she 
was reclining, watching her hand whereon diamonds glittered, as it 
lazily turned the pages of a novel she was reading. Her eye- 
brows were very black, and her cheeks very pink, and her lips 
even redder than those of Therese. 

I sat there watching her, my heart growing fuller every mo- 
ment, my lip beginning to tremble, as I thought of the Bible 
stories my nurse had told me — of Hagar and Ishmael, of Rebecca 
and Jacob, of Hannah and Samuel. Surely those veiling lids 
must cover eyes able to look at me differently than with the 
cold look to which I was accustomed ; surely the warm color on 
the cheeks must be the reflex of something warmer underneath ! 

The next moment I was clinging to her, crying passionately, 
my wet lips on hers, the hot drops from my eyes washing away 
the rosy flush I had thought so beautiful, and revealing nothing 
underneath it but a cold and sickly pallor. 

I never tried to love my mother again. She murdered even 
the wish as she threw me off and sat up upon the couch, hex 
face ghastly pale except for patches of red upon her lips, and 
streaks of the same color, fringed with yellow, on her cheeks. 


16 


TllKOUGil LOVE TO LIFE. 


I was not crying as I scrambled to my feet again, though I 
had knocked my head against the footstool and bruised my arm. 
My white frock was crushed and stained, my curls were hope- 
lessly out of order, and my cheek was burning, but I was not 
crying. 

For a moment I stood and she sat, both of us looking at each 
other. Then I cried out to go back to my nurse, and she cried 
out to her maid to take me there. That night I woke up from 
sleep, trembling. Again I saw as in a vision the semblance of 
a woman’s face crowned with a mountain of hair. Its color was 
a sickly yellow stained with red ; its eyes were wide open and 
dilated — full of dread as if they were looking upon death. So 
they were — upon the corpse of filial love. 

But that another supplied the places of both father and moth- 
er, I should, in spite of my heirship, have been a wretched little 
pauper indeed. 

She was nothing particular to look at, that dear nurse of ours. 
A little woman, neat and unpretending as a Quakeress, with the 
[)atient peace in her face which you may oftenest see in the face 
of such an one — peace which was not the result of want of trial, 
but the result of having come out of it. “ These are they which 
came out of great tribulation.” Such are the Bible words which 
recur to my memory when I think of her. 

For she had come out of it. The deep lines in her face had 
been graven there by sorrow, yet the peace spread over all made 
them so beautiful that you would not willingly have missed one. 
Her eyes were blue and gentle, the smile in them softened by 
the shadows of many shed tears ; her mouth still retained a nerv- 
ous twitch which it had acquired during some supreme trial; 
her hands were the large, strong hands of a worker ; her hair of 
a pale yellow, soft as silk. This hair, I fancy, was something like 
a thorn in the flesh to her, it being in a constant state of rebel- 
lion against the severe discipline to which it was subjected. 
However determinately combed back in the morning under the 
high mob cap she wore (in which cap, bluebottles used to get 
and hum, to my intense delight), towards afternoon and evening 
it would break into ripples, curling back in little rings over her 
broad, low forehead in a way I used to think lovely. It was ob- 
stinate hair, and, like us children, wouldn’t always be trained in 
the way it should go. Once, I remember, the baby pulled off 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


17 


her cap, and I fancy I see again now the torrent of sunshine 
which for a moment flooded the sedate shawl she wore crossed 
over her bosom. 

This woman’s name was Smith. She told me this once her- 
self in a little burst of emotion, and with an unusual flash in 
her gentle eye. And she added quickly that my grandfather 
had borne it with honor and left it unsullied. It had been good 
enough for him. 

I inquired why it was not good enough for my father, being 
still too much of a child to comprehend the gulf which separ- 
ates Smith from Smythe. 

To which she gave a strange and curious answer, her mouth 
twitching in the old nervous way and with the same most un- 
usual warmth. 

“ Let the cruel thing that weaned a brother from a sister an- 
swer that,” said she. 

I pressed for a still further explanation, this being somewhat 
enigmatical. 

Continuing the game of cross questions and crooked answers, 
she further remarked, sobbing now and strongly agitated, that it 
was offering up of own relations on the shrine of Mammoth (I 
think she said Mammoth, though I don’t pretend to know what 
she meant), which somehow or other had resulted in Smythe, 
and Anally she broke into a fit of crying, all the more terrifying 
because she cried so seldom, until it became quite as much as I 
could do to kiss her back to smiles again. 

I remember that the smiles were very watery, and that the 
gentle bosom upon which I nestled was long agitated. When 
she put me to bed an hour afterwards, she herself joined audibly 
with me in one clause of the Lord’s Prayer, repeating it with al- 
most passionate earnestness. “ Forgive us our trespasses,” we 
said together, “ as we forgive them that trespass against us.” 

Even after she had said good-night and snugly tucked me up 
in my cot, she lingered musingly beside me, finally kneeling down 
again at the bedside to lay her head upon the pillow close to 
mine ; her hair hopelessly in confusion, her sunken cheek bright- 
ly flushed, her gentle lips trembling. After a few moments of si- 
lence she put her mouth close to my ear, and whispered softly 
that I must forget what she had said, that it was naughty of her 
to have said it, and that she was sorry. I nearly had forgotten, in 
2 


18 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


the interest of a wonderful fairy story she had told me since, 
probably for that very purpose, but this remark of hers, well 
meant but injudicious — the dear little woman was not wise 
in her generation, being one of the children of light — brought 
it all back again, investing it with new importance. I fell asleep 
murmuring her own words of an hour before : 

“ Let the cruel thing that weaned a brother from a sister an- 
swer that.” 


CHAPTER lY. 

BALLYACORA HALL. 

“ But the child’s sob in the silence curses deeper 
Than the strong man in his wrath.” 

Elizabeth B. Browning. 

I WAS eight years old when we migrated to Bally acora Hall. 
Two or three other things of almost equal importance oc- 
curred about the same period. Firstly, I was promoted to real 
trousers — real ones, like a man’s. Secondly, my curls were cut 
off. Thirdly, I became owner of a live pony and a live groom, 
both of whom could wince if I whipped them. Hip, hip, 
hip ! — 

No, 1 can’t for the life of me ! There was a fourthly, which, 
like Aaron’s rod, swallowed up all the others, remaining after- 
wards as lean and gaunt as ever. 

I had to part with my nurse. All my kickings, and scream- 
ings, and threatenings to kill myself lost their potency on this 
occasion. Why, I learned afterwards. 

Ballyacora Hall, County Cork, Ireland, had become my father’s 
in some mysterious manner connected with a bankrupt lord, 
with race-courses, and the devil to pay generally. I picked up 
this information from scraps of talk which fell from the lips of 
my elders, piecing them together, while preserving every outward 
sign of complete indifference. 

I also found out in the same manner that, though my maternal 
grandfather had certainly been a baronet, that high-minded aris- 
tocrat had not scrupled to allow his daughter to pay his numer- 
ous debts in a way which she called heroic, but which roy father 
styled something very different. And a very tough rod, fash- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


19 


ioned out of this act, was in constant requisition by my parents 
for the chastisement of each other. 

But in whatever way Ballyacora Hall became the property of 
my father, it certainly possessed eminently suitable qualities for 
making a gentleman of his heir. It was so redolent of aristo- 
cratic perfume from cellar to attic that you couldn’t live in it 
without imbibing its odor. The wine-vaults had formerly been 
dungeons, wherein kernes had been tortured to death, and there 
was a recess in the wall still which had once contained, so they 
said, a human skeleton. Up-stairs was an oaken chest, which 
smelt like a vault, and which had been the burial-place of a no- 
ble lady, nailed in there by an offended lord to die at her leisure. 
And the banqueting, now the entrance, hall still reeked with the 
legends of former revellers, when the times were “good old 
times,” and masters were masters, and serfs serfs, and women 
creatures to be dealt with as men chose. What wonder that, 
after sucking in such tales like mothers’ milk, I went out among 
my dependants to swagger and hector and kick where I could — 
every evil instinct in me at its strongest, every good one dor- 
mant ? 

Thus 1 grew up to be fourteen years old, a big, handsome, 
headstrong boy ; my only discipline an occasional thrashing from 
my father, at times when I deserved it least ; my only mentor an 
occasional twinge from a conscience which had been so tenderly 
fostered in my early childhood that no neglect would quite silence 
it now. 

It was one of these twinges of conscience which sent me to 
the top of the house before my departure for Eton to say good- 
bye to my neglected sisters, who lived, or sickened and died, up 
there, out of sight and sound and hearing of the denizens below. 

“ Poor little wretches !” I thought, as I mounted stair after 
stair, “ what a deuce of a way to go up and come down ! By the 
way, do they ever come down ?” 

And my heart swelled a little, half with pity, half with com- 
placency at my own superior position — the boy who could not 
be ignored — the heir who would be lord of all. 

I was directed in my search for the right room by a child’s 
voice and the song of a eanary. I opened the door, walked in 
unannounced, and stood among its inmates. 

My abrupt entrance was the signal for a wild retreat on the 


20 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


part of several long-liaired, sliort-f rocked, bare-legged, sticky- 
mouthed atoms of feminine humanity to the protecting skirts of 
nurse. Only two remained stationary, the baby in the cradle 
(even the slatternly nursemaid rocking it started up aghast at 
my unexpected appearance) and a little girl in a corner, who con- 
tinued her singular occupation of tearing paper from the wall, 
with a nonchalance which surprised even me. 

“ Hullo !” I said, “ what’s the row ?” 

(Rows came so natural to me, you know.) 

The flock of timid sheep clustered round nurse looked at me 
with wide blue eyes, but uttered not a word. The little girl in 
the corner laughed a harsh, disdainful laugh, most unchildlike. 

“ Oh, ’tis only that they’re so naughty and so ill-behaved, sir,” 
said nurse, a gaunt, bony, scraggy-necked individual, with a sharp 
voice and sharp red nose. “ Nobody ’d think as I took the pains 
with ’em I do, or that they was clean this morning. Hold your 
noise, you brute !” This last to the canary, which broke out into 
a shrill, sarcastic whistle. 

Oh, how knowing that bird looked, to be sure ! How artfully 
he cocked one bright eye, first at me and then at nurse ! How 
cunningly he turned a pirouette on his perch, coming up wrong 
side foremost and seeming to be pantomimically saying with his 
quivering tail : “ Gammon, sir, gammon, all gammon !” 

“ That is a lie, Atkinson,” said the little girl in the corner, 
quietly endorsing the canary, the while she continued her occupa- 
tion of stripping the wall of its covering. “ You stayed in bed 
this morning to breakfast and told Sally to dress us, and Sally 
read her book and told us to dress ourselves. That’s the reason 
we are so dirty, except Florry. Florry would be clean in a 
pigstye.” 

I don’t think any one in the room drew breath for a few sec- 
onds after this speech, except perhaps the baby. I’m sure the 
canary didn’t, for he stood motionless on his perch, his head 
drawn into his body and every feather in him standing out as 
straight as an arrow. I’m sure I didn’t either, for the look nurse 
directed towards the back of the daring little speaker was almost 
murderous. 

“ Is it me or Miss Mabel that’s telling a lie ?” she gasped, turn- 
ing to another of the children, whom, if I hadn’t known it before, 
I should still have recognized as Florence from her sister’s last 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


21 


words. Her pinafore was the only unsoiled one in the room, her 
trousers were the only ones frilled. Her snowy neck and shoul- 
ders, soft, dimpled hands, and rose-tinted cheeks seemed unsoil- 
able. I noticed too that her long, rich brown curls were care- 
fully brushed and tied back with a ribbon. It was evident that 
whether anybody else took care of her or not, Florence would 
take care of herself. She stood among the others, unstained 
and soilless, like a delicate hothouse flower among weeds. 

“ Is it me or is it Miss Mabel ?” repeated the nurse. 

I watched Florry’s blue-veined lids fall over her bluer eyes, 
and saw the rose-tint on her cheek deepen a little. 

“ Florry will say what you wish,” broke in again that fearless 
voice from the corner ; “ she is afraid of being beaten else, or 
having her ribbon taken away, and Florry loves her own comfort 
and fine clothes better than the truth. I used to be afraid of 
you too, but I’m not now. I’ve made you afraid of me.” 

“ Come out of that corner this minute,” said nurse, now too 
furious to conceal her wrath any longer. “ Of all spiteful, imp- 
ish—” 

“ Go on,” said the voice ; “ let Charley hear you, and the nice 
words you teach us. I’ll come out of the corner when I choose ; 
you put me here for your pleasure, and I shall stay for mine.” 

It was time to put an end to the scene, for nurse’s wrath was 
changing from hot to cold, and a strangled sob made me think 
with terror of my mother’s hysterics. I put out my hand and 
drew one of the weeds towards me — a pretty weed with inno- 
cent eyes, a rosebud of a mouth, extremely dirty, and a quantity 
of rough, unkempt yellow hair hanging behind it. This weed, 
which had a chubby thumb in its mouth, was my favorite among 
them — little Irish Aileen. 

“ Come,” I said, coaxingly, “ you’ll talk to me, won’t you ? 
I’m going away to school, and I sha’n’t see you again for ever 
so lone. What’s the matter? You know who I am, don’t 
you?” 

If Aileen’s thumb had been soluble, it must have disappeared 
before my eyes, she sucked it so vigorously. 

“ Miss Aileen, you naughty girl, take your thumb out of your 
mouth and answer your brother,” said nurse, glad to find a less 
dangerous victim, “ or — ” 

The “ or ” was sufficient. The thumb came out with a sound 


22 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


like a cork from a bottle, and Aileen’s cherub lips opened to a 
lisping “ Yeth.” 

“ Who am I, then ? Don’t be frightened,” I said encourag- 
ingly. 

“ Renewed hesitation, renewed impetus, and the answer came 
forth again with a burst : 

“ Master Charles.” 

“ What a silly little girl you are ! Say ‘ Charles.’ ” 

“ Nurse tails you Master Charles, and says she would like to 
have the trimming of you.” 

“ Nurse is only a servant — only a common servant,” I replied 
indignantly, “ but you will be a lady. She calls you Miss Aileen 
too, doesn’t she ?” 

“ Thometimes — ” this with a pressure of the baby lips, which 
shows me that, though Aileen can be awed by nursery discipline, 
she is still capable of revolt against it — “ and thometimes hussy, 
and chit, and ’ittle yetch.” 

Aileen is not such a heroine as that other weed in the corner. 
Her courage is of a true feminine order ; capable of audacious 
daring, but rapidly sinking afterwards into profound dismay at 
its own act. She drew nearer to me as she spoke, and put her 
little hand upon my shoulder. 

“ Never mind,” I said, breaking the succeeding silence by an 
embarrassed laugh. “ Tell me what I shall bring you when I 
come home for the holidays. What would you like, Florence? 
Speak. You are the eldest.” 

Florence’s blue eyes brightened, her breath came a trifle quicker, 
the lovely color on her cheek deepened again. 

“ Well?” 

“ A pink frock, trimmed with lace,” she said, eagerly. 

“ Our last kitten was black, and not all the soap in the world 
could wash it white,” broke in that uncanny voice from the 
corner. 

“ But we never tried,” said innocent Aileen ; “ bethides, it 
would have hurt it.” 

“ And what would you like, Mabel ?” I asked, and I waited 
with curiosity for the answer. 

For the first time since I entered the room Mabel turned so 
that we could see her face. I had often seen it before, of course, 
but I saw it now with opened eyes and awakened understanding. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


23 


There was no beauty in it. The forehead was too broad and 
pronounced for a girl, the temples too bare and prominent. 
Even the keen, sarcastic gray eye looked more dangerous than 
attractive ; there was a sparkle in it, sharp as the edge of a 
knife. Her scanty brown hair was close-cropped like a boy’s, 
her long nose slightly crooked ; round her thin, straight mouth 
were lines that would have looked premature in a woman of 
thirty. Her mouth was expanded and her forehead contracted, 
yet she was neither smiling nor frowning as she answered me. 

“ What is it to be, Mabel ?” 

“ A rod for a fool’s back,” said the strange girl. 

I don’t know why I colored, nor why I fancied that these 
words were aimed with special intention, and that their aim was 
myself. As if the child knew what she was talking about ! 
Then I turned to Aileen. 

“Now, my pet, what is your choice?” 

“ Can I have what I want most ?” 

“ Yes, what you want most.” 

There was a curious agitation in Aileen’s little throat, and 
her blue eyes were filled with tears, and her round mouth was 
quivering. 

“ Don’t cry. You ain’t going to cry, are you? Tell me what 
you want most.” 

If there had been a recording angel present, he would have 
had a heavy reckoning to set against my mother’s name that 
moment. The look on the child’s face was full of infinite pathos 
and infinite reproach. 

She put her arms around my neck and her wet cheek close to 
mine, and whispered, so low that no one else could hear : 

“ Bring me back a new mamma.” 

If there had been a recording angel present, no tear, no ocean 
of tears, could have blotted out that indictment. I had a boy’s 
heart, tough and unimpressible, but the words fell heavy upon 
it ; they left an indelible wound there, which is angry and 
throbs still. 

I went away soon after that, after having distributed my 
sweets and kissed each dirty little mouth, save one. I could not 
kiss Florence ; she had advanced towards me with so much 
graceful dignity that I made her as awkw^ard a bow as I should 
have done to a grown lady. 


24 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Nurse accompanied me to the door, once more as sweet and 
slimy as butter-scotch, as mellow as toffy. “ How Miss Mabel 
do put me out, to be sure !” she said ; “ but there, I never bear 
malice. My bark’s worse than my bite any day.” 

I made no response. When she shut the door I remained a 
moment on the landing, but there was no sound inside, save the 
creaking of the cradle and the song of the canary. Yet there 
was an oppressive feel in the silence quite the reverse of reas- 
suring. 

I had ascended the stairs with a vague expectation of finding 
three or four feminine creatures there, looking a little different 
outwardly, but as like as peas within. I had imagined sweets 
and dolls in the present, dresses and lovers in the future, to be 
the summit of their ambition. Yet even in that neglected gar- 
den each plant was growing according to its nature. Culture 
might make an apple of the crab, a plum of the sloe, a garden 
of the hedge-side rose, but it was powerless to induce the bram- 
ble-bush to put forth figs, or the fig-tree brambles. The char- 
acters of those three sisters of mine were as different as if they 
had not sprung from the same root and been cultivated in the 
same soil — nay, as different as if they had been masculine in- 
stead of feminine. My thoughts were crude enough, but I pon- 
dered over these things. 

I had found one sister capable of vanity, one capable of sar- 
casm, one capable of love. 

“ A rod for a fool’s back.” Who was rod, and who was fool ? 
Nonsense, pure folly ! 

Yet the words haunted me, recurring again and again like a 
prophecy. 


CHAPTER V. 

LIFE AND ITS ATTRACTIONS. 

“ Only deeds give life its strength, and only moderation its charm.” Jean 

Paul. 

The next day I left home for Eton, went through the usual 
courses of fagging and flogging there, picked up some scraps of 
knowledge, the most important of which was perhaps that I was 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


25 


by no means universally acknowledged as tlie centre of the uni- 
verse, and finally, after being, as I congratulate myself, rather 
brilliantly plucked at Oxford after a few years’ residence there, 
came home to celebrate my majority. 

That over, and the discovery made that my sisters were grow- 
ing into remarkably fine girls ; that there was no other fine girl 
circulating round, not a sister, available for a preliminary flirta- 
tion ; that my father was balder, grayer, and more plebeian-look- 
ing than ever; and that my mother was having the worst of it 
in her daily contest with age, I came to the definite conclusion 
that Ballyacora was the dullest place in creation, and life there 
insupportable. 

This result I communicated in the best of good faith to my 
father, almost as soon as it was arrived at. 

We were alone together in his sanctum sanctorum^ euphemis- 
tically called “ the study,” though the only subject studied there 
was £ s. d . — debit and credit. I was lounging in his easy-chair, 
the while he stood before me, my sensitive university nose 
wrinkling in undisguised disgust at the tradesman-like atmos- 
phere of the place, my sensitive hands thrust deep down into 
my trousers pockets for fear of contamination. 

“ I can’t stand this humdrum place any longer,” I said. “ I 
want to see life and to enjoy it.” 

“ And so you shall, Charley,” said my father, “ so you shall.” 

There was something in the tone of his voice as he spoke 
which startled me and made me look up ; something as if two 
voices belonging to two people had melted into one. And yet, 
though melted, they were separate still, and discordant, and not 
in unison. 

There was also a double expression in his face as I looked at 
it. The one half, the usual and dominant expression — the oth- 
er, a latent and concealed one, long kept in the background, but 
now breaking irresistibly forth in futile yet hot rebellion. 

And for a moment I recognized the old English oak cracking 
the varnish which would fain have concealed its existence — the 
true among the false, his heirloom and mine, inherited from a 
long line of noble ancestors. 

“ So you shall,” he said, “ on one condition.” 

“ What is that ?” 

‘‘You are my only son,” he continued, wiping his face with a 


26 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


red-and-yellow silk handkerchief, as if conscious that it was 
eloquent on its own account and had better be silenced, “ and 
are heir to a million — a me-illion.” 

I had heard this so often that it seemed as natural and as im- 
mutable a law of the universe as that my hair was blond and 
curly, that my mother read novels perpetually, that the girls were 
of no importance as compared to me, and that the earth revolved 
round the sun. 

“ A me-illion,” he continued, one hand on the bulging pocket 
of his coat, the other jingling loose coin in his breeches pockets, 
“ wasn’t earned in a day, no, nor in a month either, nor without 
sleepless nights and anxious days, and tears of blood, and indig- 
nities without number, and insults to be stored up and paid back 
with usury.” 

As he withdrew his hand from the bulging pocket to draw 
forth the red-and-yellow pocket handkerchief again, I almost 
heard the varnish creak, it split so furiously ; as he wiped away 
some moisture which had gathered in his eyes, I think that if 
my moral nature had not been so warped and poisoned, and he 
the poisoner, I should almost have respected him. As it was, 
the emotion which for a moment contracted my throat was gone 
as he revarnished himself and revarnished me. 

“ What is the condition ?” I asked carelessly. 

But though I asked, I knew well enough what he meant. It 
had been talked about a hundred times. Even the babies in the 
nursery must have known that I was destined to marriage with 
a duke’s daughter ; to scale the summit of the aristocratic lad- 
der which my father had striven so unsuccessfully to mount 
himself. 

And I was satisfied, on the whole, with this condition. I 
would do what he wished. Only not now, not now ! I must 
have my fling first. 

“ I’ve sweated and toiled all for you, my boy,” he went on. 
“ To make a gentleman of you has been the aim of my life. I 
was not always Smythe of Ballyacora. And if the place is dull 
to you, don’t you think it’s dull to me ? don’t you think I want 
a bit of change sometimes ? But I’m willing to give up every- 
thing else for the sake of the one thing I’ve set my heart upon. 
Look at you there, young, rich, handsome, cl^Ycr — a match for 
any one !” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


27 


He was looking at me with pride and affection, and yet his 
look did not soften, it only hardened me. For my thoughts had 
sprung back with a sudden rebound to long-forgotten memories. 
I saw another face, something like his and yet so different, and 
heard a voice saying, “ Let the cruel thing that weaned a brother 
from a sister answer that.” 

“ You shall see life,” he said, “ see it at your leisure and vdth 
full pockets. I can wait another year or two. And then, my 
boy, you will come back to fulfil my life’s desire, and take my 
place in Ballyacora Hall. 

“ I have always done my duty by you,” he concluded, pom- 
pously, “ and I shall expect you then to do your duty by me.” 

If occasionally licking me, not for my benefit, but his own 
relief, if pampering every bad thing within me, if stifling my 
conscience and pauperizing my heart, had been doing that duty, 
so he had — so he had. As for mine to him, had he never read 
those divine words, “ What a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap ” ? 

So we separated. I went up-stairs to make preparation for 
my speedy departure from Ballyacora, aided or hindered there- 
in by Aileen, who persisted in wasting oceans of love upon me 
in spite of my meagre acknowledgment of the same, while he 
remained behind, either engrossed in the absorbing study of 
£ s. d. or brooding over his parental programme and its ap- 
proaching consummation. 

But, lack-a-day ! Fate sometimes plays the dickens with pa- 
rental programmes. 

I had written to some Oxford friends of mine — friends after 
my father’s own heart, for they were both noble, I mean titled 
— and informed them that I was coming up to London to see 
life in their company. After which I dutifully went again to 
my father’s study to receive from him certain pieces of paper 
and his blessing ; thrashed Patsey, my groom, to make him re- 
member, and handsomely tipped him to make him forget; ran 
up to my mother’s boudoir to kiss her, stage-fashion, both of 
us simultaneously saluting the air ; rubbed my sprouting mus- 
tache against Aileen’s wet little face ; and departed in high 
feather, leaving the dullest place in creation and my own des- 
tiny behind me for an indefinite period. To youth to-day is 


28 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


everything ; to-morrow, something so far removed as hardly to 
be worth taking into consideration. 

Well, I saw life in the company of these noble friends, both 
of whom sought to find some new bloom upon it from the fresh- 
ness of their companion ; saw it at first with eager curiosity, 
quaffing cup after cup of its pleasures with all the insatiability 
of immaturity ; then, suddenly, I came to the dregs, and the 
swallowing of them sickened me. 

There was nothing worth living for in England ; that was as 
clearly evident to me as that Ballyacora was the dullest place in 
creation. Again I tried to turn my back upon myself, forgetting 
that whithersoever I went I must carry it with me. 

“ It’s une grande passion you need,” said the nobler of my two 
noble friends. Lord George Graceless, who was himself tout epris^ 
as he called it, with one of the ladies of the ballet. (My other 
noble friend. Sir Harry Goitt, was already gone — to the dogs.) 

“ I’ll go abroad,” I said, “ and try life there.” 

“ If it wasn’t for Celestine I’d go with you,” sighed his lord- 
ship. “They understand how to live better than we do over 
there in France.” 

So I went to France, carrying my malady with me, for I could 
not leave myself behind. 

And I went to Austria and Spain, and finally to Italy, seek- 
ing what I could not find — an illusive something which ever 
danced before me, and the futile search for which led me deep- 
er and deeper into the marshes. 

At last, weary and hopeless, I crossed the mountain barrier 
and descended into Switzerland. 

I would spend a few days here, I thought, to try and believe 
in nature, if I could, after having lost all faith in man. I wan- 
dered on among defiles and over mountains, looking up to the 
snowy summits all turned towards God, hoping that up there, 
at least, was purity, long since vanished, alas ! from every spot 
nearer earth. 

It was an evening early in September, and the sun was set- 
ting, when I reached Lucerne. The promenade beside the lake 
was thronged with admiring spectators, among whom I wandered 
listlessly and hopelessly. There were people of all nations among 
the crowd. Ever and anon I caught scraps of English, French, 
German, and Italian. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


29 


The setting sun, dying in a lake of blood behind Mount Pilate, 
bathed the world in a crimson flood, and heated red-hot with 
its flery breath the top of every mountain. Mount Pilate itself, 
clothed sumptuously in purple and flne linen, was beginning to 
reflect the light of a gentler monarch, now that the more ardent 
one was departing. Already the moon’s young crescent, pale 
with envy, sent a silvery messenger over the snow to herald her 
coming ; already the deep blush on the mountains was paling, 
and the gold on the rippling water at my feet changing into 
silver. 

I was listlessly wondering which was the more beautiful, the 
passion of the moment before or the purity of the present. I 
was leaning on the parapet and looking down into the dazzling 
water, when a lady’s dress swept lightly over my foot, the lace 
on a lady’s mantle tickled my hand, and a lady’s soft, warm 
breath mingled itself with the breath of Nature upon my cheek. 

I had been crowded, hustled, run against, pushed aside a hun- 
dred times this evening already, and why these gentle touches 
should have affected me so powerfully I cannot tell. I only know 
that they ran through me like a succession of electric shocks, 
and that every nerve in my body throbbed a response to them. 
I looked round. 

Close beside me stood a lady, and beyond her a gentleman. 
Both were leaning, as I was, upon the parapet which protects 
the promenade towards the lake. Both were apparently occu- 
pied, as I was, in contemplating the wondrous landscape before 
us, which Nature had just been freshly coloring into a glory un- 
speakable. 


CHAPTER VI. 

PRINCE AND DAME DE COMPAGNIE. 

“ Who hath not found himself surprised into revenge, or action, or passion 
for good or evil, whereof the seeds lay within him, latent and unsuspected, 
until the occasion called them forth.” — Thackeray {Esmond). 

But appearances may be deceitful. The pair beside me, both 
wonderfully handsome, both evidently struggling with a supreme 
emotion, were as indifferent to the beauty of the scene before 


30 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


them as if they had been blind. They were gazing, not at it, 
but intently at each other. 

Yet that she was looking at him could only be guessed at by 
the expression in his face, turned towards me. It was lit up by 
the last sun ray, and was all aflame with passion and anger and 
love and entreaty and fury at the opposition which he seemed 
to read in hers, and flerce intention to overcome it. 

How can I describe him — the man who, I instinctively felt, 
was destined to become my arch-enemy — the man whom I was 
fated to hunt down unto his death ? 

At the very moment when I had Anally discovered that life was 
not worth the living. Fate lit up two fires in my heart, which for 
a long time burned with almost equal intensity — fires fundamen- 
tally opposed, and yet continually fed the one by the other — 
love and hate. 

That he would be no despicable enemy was apparent at the 
first glance. His rank was evidently far beyond my own. His 
beauty was so extraordinary that, as I gazed, I saw others gaze, 
too, in open-eyed admiration. 

“ What a magnificent man !” whispered an English lady pass- 
ing us. 

“ Mon Dieu ! quelle heaute superhe P' murmured a Frenchman. 

“ Donnerwetter ! welch ein PaarP' cried an enthusiastic German. 

Whether these remarks were heard or not by the object of 
them, I cannot say. His deep, dark, heavily-fringed blue eyes 
remained fixed upon the lady’s face ; his beautifully cut, trans- 
parent nostrils still quivered ; between his full, red, haughtily 
curled lips his white teeth gleamed, like those of some magnifi- 
cent, ferocious wild animal ; and through the rich brown of his 
complexion you might still see the hot Southern blood palpitate. 
When at last he spoke I drew my breath to listen, bending my 
head low over the water, as if that were the sole object of my 
thoughts. 

His voice corresponded to his appearance perfectly. It was 
soft, musical, seductive, passionate, and commanding, all in one. 
Through every word he uttered ran a threat which seemed to 
say : “ Yield, or I will compel thee. Resist, and I will oppose 
the strength of my manhood to the weakness of thy woman- 
hood, and kill if I cannot conquer thee.” 

I saw the woman shudder as he broke the spell which had 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


31 


bound her, and saw, too, the look with which he stilled and 
silenced her, awing even the fibres of her body into submission. 

“ Kathe,” he said (I understood enough German to be able to 
follow him), “ Madchen^ entschliesse dich dock. Glaubst du etwa 
dass meine Geduld ewig dauern wirdP (Make up your mind. 
Do you think my patience will last forever ?) 

She made no answer, except by a quick motion of her hand, 
meant to indicate, I believe, that there was some one near who 
might hear and heed him. It is a singular characteristic of 
women that they never, even at the most critical moment, lose 
their innate fear of exposure, although men under the same cir- 
cumstances forget it utterly. 

Her companion turned his wonderful eyes, with their attract- 
ive yet steely glitter, full on me for a moment, then lowered 
them contemptuously. 

“ Bah !” he muttered, “ ein verruckter Englander ” (a crazy 
Englishman). “ He’ll understand no other language than his 
own accursed one.” 

I felt fiattered, of course, so flattered that I ground my teeth, 
cursing him through them, and laid my hand involuntarily upon 
the hilt of a short Italian dagger I kept in my pocket. But I 
listened on, restraining myself for the present, my tell-tale eyes 
upon the water. 

“Kathe,” he said again, and through the music of his voice 
ran the same chord of threatening, “ speak, speak quickly, and 
say : ‘ Eberhard, my Eberhard, I will yield, I will do what thou 
wishest,’ or, hei Gott ! I shall kill thee or kill myself. I cannot 
endure this uncertainty any longer, denn ich hahe dich lieb. Ge- 
rechter Himmel! until now I scorned the passion, lighting up 
its flame in the hearts of others, and laughing as it consumed 
them !” 

The fierceness of his manner as he spoke, the brutality of the 
passion which flashed out of his eyes, his profane use of the 
tender German words, Ich habe dich lieb — words almost more 
sweetly simple than our English “ I love you ” — maddened me 
into a fury as uncontrollable as it was unreasonable. As crazy 
for the moment as he had insultingly called me, I turned fiercely 
towards him, my hand again upon the hilt of my dagger, at the 
sharp point of which my hatred seemed to concentrate itself, and 
to become deadly, and to lust for blood. 


32 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Der gnddige Herr verzeihen^" I said, ironically using the most 
deferential form of words I could find, “ but I am neither so 
crazy nor so ignorant as you seem to imagine. I perfectly un- 
derstand what you have been saying, and — and — ” 

The passion which was consuming me consumed my voice too, 
and prevented my finishing what I had to say. Plis haughty 
eyes met mine once more, this time a faint shadow of surprise 
modifying their brilliancy. 

“Very well, sir,” he answered, speaking slowly, but in very 
excellent and refined English, “and what then? You have a 
right to understand, of course, but gentlemen do not listen.” 

The hot blood which instantly dyed my face scarlet pleaded 
guilty to the charge he implied, and maddened me still further. 
He smiled sarcastically as he turned from me to his companion 
again. She had slightly moved, and I could see the lovely con- 
tour of her face and the slow tears which were falling, one by 
one, into the water. 

“ Come, Kathe,” he said, “ let us go.” 

“ Not yet, sir,” I cried, casting prudence, forethought, every- 
thing but wild passion, to the wind. “You have twice deliber- 
ately insulted me. I call you to account for it. I demand 
satisfaction.” 

The contemptuous look with which he now regarded me from 
head to foot was worse than a blow — worse than a blow in the 
eyes of all the populace. Then he stooped to the lady, uttering 
a few rapidly spoken words in a language quite new to me. She 
rose instantly from her leaning position on the parapet, still 
keeping her face averted, and they moved slowly away together ; 
his spurred heels (he was attired in the closely fitting, rich uni- 
form of a foreign cavalry officer) seeming to spurn the ground 
they touched ; his long sword clattering noisily after him upon 
the pavement. 

“ Sir,” I said, quickly following and trying to speak with dig- 
nity and calmness, “here is my card. You will give me yours 
in return if you please, and we can settle this matter at a more 
convenient season.” 

He took my card, glanced at the name upon it with that curling 
back of his full red lips which made him look so like a magnifi- 
cent wild animal, and said, in a sharp, clear voice, and in words 
of which every one struck and hurt me : 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


33 


“ I am staying at the Hotel Plmperatrice d’Autriche. If you 
will call there to-morrow morning I will give orders that my 
courier and maitre d'affaires^ Monsieur de Laffolie, shall give 
you audience. He will be quite ready to show you what weapon 
we use in my country for chastising the impertinences of boys. 
Not the sword, Herr je! but the horsewhip, my young sir, or 
the cane.” 

As he uttered these insulting words he tore my card in two, 
flung it over the parapet into the water, and strode forward 
again, leaving me with the boiling passion in my heart stilled 
into that intense quiet which is the beginning of murder. 

What I should have done next I know not — I had already 
drawn my dagger from its sheath — when the lady turned and 
looked at me, her lovely eyes first full of terrified caution, rap- 
idly changing into profound surprise and eager curiosity. 

Oh, those eyes and that face ! and, above all, that incompre- 
hensible expression ! Had she seen me before or I her, or had 
we both known and loved one another in a dream ? 

I do not know when I became aware that I was the centre 
of attraction for many curious eyes. I remember hearing again 
the words which had formed an excuse for my first outbreak of 
fury. “ HcA, ein verruckter Englander !" the people cried, form- 
ing a dense crowd around the place where I stood. “ Ein ver- 
ruckter Englander r the burly gendarme echoed, as he forced 
his way through the gaping multitude and bore down heavily 
upon me. 


CHAPTER VH. 

UN GRAND PETIT HOMME. 

“ For we are all so heavily weighted by the laws and conditions of the pres- 
ent ordered time, that no one, be he never so free, can long remain upright 
without the support of a business or the excitement of a love affair.” 

Immermann {Munchausen). 

In another moment I became aware that I was not only a 
laughing-stock for the public, but also in a confounded pickle. 
The gendarme’s heavy hand ^yas on my shoulder, his red face 
and flaming mustache in threatening proximity to mine, and his 
3 


34 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


husky voice of authority in my ears, bidding me hand over the 
dagger I still brandished and follow him. I knew that opposi- 
tion would be worse than useless, and might be punished by 
long months of arrest. 

But before I had time to consider what I should do, the hand 
of the incorruptible officer of the law loosened its grasp of my 
shoulder to grasp something else ; his ferocious mustache sud- 
denly grew quite amicable ; his left hand, palm outward, def- 
erentially touched the side of his official hat ; and leaving me, 
the offender, unmolested, he began soundly to rate the unoffend- 
ing bystanders for blocking up the way. 

While I gazed and wondered,, half believing myself deluded 
by some vision, the dagger I still held was drawn gently from 
my clenched fist and replaced in its sheath. 

Looking round amazed, I met a caustic, curious ray darting 
out from the deep-set eyes of a little, wiry Frenchman. 

“ Pardon, monsieur,” he said, with the national shrug of the 
shoulders, the national politeness, and the national grimace, “ I 
have fear that I have permitted myself to take too great a lib- 
erty, mais — ah, monsieur, you have much of — vat you call it ? — 
plock, plock Anglais, but it values better to have a little of dis- 
cretion, a little of patience, with the aristocrats.” 

His voice began softly, rising at the end of each clause into 
the sing-song emphasis of “ the world’s city.” His shabby 
clothes, too, had been made in Paris, and, though rubbed and 
worn at the seams, had a Parisian jauntiness about them still. 
His umbrella, a cheap one of cotton, was rolled into the smallest 
compass possible, and the toes of his shining boots refiected the 
crescent moon as if they had been mirrors. 

“ Was it you who sent away the gendarme ? Did you hear 
what that — that devil said to me ?” I gasped. “ Do you know 
him?” 

“ The gendarme ? — mais oui, monsieur ; a very worthy citizen 
of Lucerne.” 

“ With a weakness for les pourhoiresy 

“You have said it, monsieur. But who has not his little 
weaknesses ? Behold mine,” showing his shining boots. 

“ I did not mean him, though.” 

“ I have divined that also. You will say the other.” 

“ I mean the other.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


35 


“And you called liim de dayvil. You have well said, mon- 
sieur ; it is the truth.” 

“ Do you know him too ?” 

“ Oui, monsieur, I know him. I know him well, and I mean, 
I, to know him better.” 

The sparkle was gone from his eye, leaving it dark and men- 
acing; his teeth met and moved slowly over one another like 
the grinding-stones of a mill ; the light on his brightly polished 
boots changed from white to dull red, and looked like spots of 
blood. 

“ Where is he staying ?” I asked. “ What is his name ?” 

All the music and the bright crescendo were gone from the 
Frenchman’s voice as he answered me : 

“ He is staying at the Hotel I’Imperatrice d’Autriche, and his 
name is Monsieur le Prince de Pobeldowski.” 

“ Is he there alone ?” 

“ He is there with Madame la Princesse and suite.” 

“You do not mean to say that the lady is — that he is mar- 
ried?” I faltered, something putting an icy hand on my heart 
and congealing its current. 

“The lady with him is only the dame de compagnie of Ma- 
dame la Princesse,” answered my companion, eying me keenly, 
“ and is poor and hourgeoise, I believe. N^importe ; she is beau- 
tiful as an angel. I am old now, but I have been young too 
dans le temps. Mon Dieu ! what hair ! shining like pure gold. 
What eyes ! no sky of summer was ever half so blue. What teint ! 
white and pure as the snow upon the tops of the mountains.” 

He paused, watching me and the betraying hue upon my face, 
then went on : 

“ If I were young, instead of old, I would revenge myself on 
the aristocrat by entering the lists against him and bearing off 
the prize he is burning to win for himself. The prize may be 
honest as well as beautiful — par ma foi, je le crois ! — may prefer 
marriage with a bourgeois to a liaison with a prince.” 

I remembered the terror-stricken expression on the lovely 
face when it was turned towards him ; I saw again the eager, 
curious, interested look upon it when it was turned towards me. 
And suddenly life assumed a new aspect, became filled to the 
brim with a new desire, to the realization of which I vowed to 
devote it. 


36 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Ecoutez^"' said the Frenchman, as we moved away from the 
crowd, “ I am going to help you. Halte la ! there is no reason 
for that vehement outburst of gratitude, because I am helping 
myself first. Only the good God knows for how many, many 
of days I have searched for an ally in vain. I, I also have a lit- 
tle account to settle with Monsieur le Prince.” 

“You are a gentleman,” I said, eagerly; “be my second in 
this affair. I will kill him, or, by Jove, he shall kill me !” 

“ Tiens ! tiens ! Behold your English plock ! Nevertheless, 
it is you who would be killed, monsieur. Though he would not 
fight with you. A prince will not fight with a commoner.” 

“ By Jupiter Ammon, I’ll make him, or show him that I, too, 
can handle a whip !” 

Again the Frenchman’s teeth met — this time sharply and sav- 
agely. Again his voice had lost its melodious ring when he 
spoke. 

“A whip — un fouet — hon! We will not forget that either. 
It, too, must have its place in our programme. But we have 
learned — we other Frenchmen — to go softly, to bide our time, 
to use the subterfuges. Et le temi^s^ le temps de vengeance 
viendra P’’ 

He lifted his dark eyes to the peaceful evening sky wherein 
the young moon now rode in all her glory, and murmured some- 
thing which sounded like “ Gracieuse.” For a few minutes we 
walked on in silence. 

“You will succeed, monsieur,” he continued. “Something 
tells me that you will succeed if you will only let me help you. 
And it is not only the vengeance that I seek — is it not a good 
work to rescue the innocent ?” 

He seemed to find his answer in the stars, towards which he 
turned his eyes again. He seemed to be satisfied with that an- 
swer, too, as he turned them back towards me. 

“You have seen, monsieur,” he continued, “how her blood 
rushes back affrighted to her heart when he even looks at her. 
And I have seen her walk alone beside the lake, looking into it, 
as if only under its water she knew where to turn for safety.” 

There was nothing now but compassion in the dark eyes of 
my companion. I took his hand ; I grasped it firmly in my 
own. 

“You shall lead, and I will follow,” I said ; “ you shall be my 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


37 


captain, and I will be your lieutenant and aide-de-camp. As for 
the prize when it is won, we will — ” 

“ Divide it ?” he inquired, with an expressive French grimace. 
“ In the meantime, leave my hand unmaimed, mon lieutenant, 
Ouf ! That was the grip of a lion ! Permit me to embrace you, 
French fashion, in return.” 

French fashion did not quite accord with my British notions, 
but I submitted to it nevertheless. 

“ Behold one fact accomplished,” he cried, vivaciously. “ This 
evening Fate is smiling on us both. I — I have found an ally ; 
young, eager, vigorous. And you, mon ami^ you have found 
something to do.” 

Something to do. How did he know of the malady which was 
sapping my life-springs ? Yet how different life looked now to 
what it had done an hour before ! The blood ran swiftly, almost 
joyously, through the veins that had been so stagnant. My heart 
beat high and vigorously. Over a dark horizon a bright star 
had arisen. 

“We will begin at once,” I said. 

“ We will begin at once, monsieur. But you must first know 
who I am before enrolling yourself under my banner. Will you 
see it ? I always carry it with me.” 

He drew a small leather case out of his pocket, opened it, and 
held it before my astonished eyes. It was a piece of blue rib- 
bon, stained with dull red marks. Upon it were stitched a few 
snow-white hairs. Underneath was written in red ink the one 
word: “Gracieuse.” 


CHAPTER VHI. 

GRACIEUSE. 

“ Qui veut voyager loin manage sa monture.” 

Racine {Les Plaidmrs). 

My curiosity was strongly excited. I urged him to begin. 

Let me tell the story again, translated from his own words, 
every syllable of which seemed graven on my heart as he poured 
it forth in the silvery moonlight. How strangely it contrasted 
with the peace of nature ! The placid water rippled at our feet, 


38 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


pale lights twinkled feebly in the city behind us, the young 
moon hung motionless in a cloudless heaven, the solemn moun- 
tains had drawn fog-mantles over their ears and seemed to re- 
pose. Everything around appeared silently protesting against 
our disturbing human element and intrusion of human passion 
into the stillness of the passionless night. 

“ I live in Lucerne, monsieur,” began the Frenchman. “ I 
have already lived here many years. There are reasons why I 
cannot return to my beloved France — my poor Napoleon-ridden 
country — political reasons, monsieur. Do not fear. I am an 
honest man.” 

Every line in his face — and there were many — had told me that 
already. 

“ It was last autumn, monsieur, when that happened about 
which I am going to tell you. It is not a great thing — you may 
think it very insignificant when you have heard it. But nHmporte^ 
I will tell it you all the same. 

“ Monsieur de Pobeldowski was also here, as now, with his 
mother, Madame la Princesse, and suite, only it was another 
dame de compagnie — not this one. I knew him well by sight. 
Who, having once seen him, could fail to know him again? I 
think if the arch-fiend could ascend from his infernal kingdom, 
clothed in every bit of masculine beauty conceivable, he would 
look like that man.” 

I assented. The Frenchman had found a fit comparison. 

“ I lodge in an humble apartment au rez-de-chaussee^ monsieur, 
with a widow who doubtless takes as good care of me as I de- 
serve. For if her attentions are meagre and her reproaches mu- 
nificent, who am I that I should complain ? 

“ It was a very hot night in August, now more than a year ago. 
I had sunk to sleep after much uneasy tossing to and fro, but 
no sooner had I lost consciousness than I found it a^ain. Some- 
thing sobbing at my bedside caused me to spring up in a fright. 

“ I was half awake and half asleep, and I thought it was my 
little sister, who had died, poor little one, at the fete of the Vir- 
gin, which was lier own fete too, for w^e had called her Gracieuse 
Marie, after the blessed Mother of God. I put out my hand, and 
laid it on her soft, warm, curly head, and cried : ‘ Gracieuse^ ma 
petite ! sois tranquille ; c'est moV 

“ Then I awoke a little more, and remembered how we had 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


39 


laid her in her last bed, dressed in the pretty frock she had worn 
at the fete, white, with blue ribbons, the Virgin’s colors, and I 
sat up all trembling and said, “ It is a spirit, and it no doubt be- 
tokens my death.” 

“ It would have been quite dark in my room, for the night 
was sulphurous and heavy, but for the rays of a lamp outside in 
the street. My window was open — I had forgotten to shut it — ^ 
and I arose in order to do so, and to see what was beside me, 
whether spirit or living thing. But I only saw my own white 
face in a mirror and the trembling of a tassel hanging from my 
bonnet de nuity and I heard nothing save the beating of my own 
frightened heart. 

“ ‘ Pooh !’ I said, ‘ a nightmare ! — rien de plus!' I mixed and 
drank to the dregs a strong glass of eau sucrh, readjusted my 
bonnet de nuit, glanced down the deserted street, shut my win- 
dow, and crept into bed again. ‘ There’s a storm brewing over 
Mount Pilate,’ I muttered ; ‘ I might have known yester evening 
he wouldn’t unsheath his sword for nothing. It is well I awoke, or 
I should have got hot ears in the morning for letting in the rain.’ 

“ In spite of the eau sucree^ that strong sedative, monsieur, I 
tossed and turned, seeking sleep in vain on the right hand and 
on the left. At last I tried what lying still would do, and with 
one result, at least. I heard the sobbing again, and now I was 
wide awake. There was some one in the room. 

“ That wasn’t a burglar behind the door, it was only my own 
coat and pantaloons, and those boots were mine too — nobody 
else’s were ever half so bright. And besides, what had I got for 
any burglar to steal, except some shabby clothes and this um- 
brella, and a cup of tisane in the cupboard ? I broke that cup 
looking for him there, and came to myself in the dismay of re- 
membering that Madame Papillote (that’s my hostess) was tak- 
ing care of the remnant of my half-yearly pension, and would 
also take good care to make me liberally pay for the damage. 

“ Besides — though that was the last thought of all — I remem- 
bered that a burglar was hardly likely to begin his work by sobbing.” 

So you found nothing ?” 

“Your question savors of impatience, monsieur; you doubt- 
less think that I am unusually old and garrulous ; nevertheless, if 
I am to tell my tale at all I must tell it in my own way. Yes, 
I did find something. I heard a movement under the bed, val- 


40 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


iantly put in my hand, which rested again on something warm 
and soft and curly, and drew forth — ” 

He stood still, turning his head to look at me. I stood still 
too, looking at him 

“ Ah, monsieur, you were smiling just now at my long-winded- 
ness, and I smiled too, yet some smiles are as mirthless as the 
lightning flash which momentarily lights up a deep well of tears, 
My heart is full of tears now as it was then, when I remember 
the poor, suffering creature which whined as I touched it, and 
pitifully licked my hand and its own bleeding wounds, looking 
up at me the while with soft, dark, imploring eyes, for all the 
world like those of my lost Gracieuse. 

“Ah, monsieur, it seems to me that those who can bear to 
hurt the beautiful living things which God gave us will be pun- 
ished hereafter with the heaviest punishment he has to inflict. 
I would rather have to answer at the great judgment seat for 
many a crime w^hich men deem mortal, than for one cruel act to 
a helpless thing put into my power.” 

“ It was only a dog, then?” I said, half disappointed, half uneasy. 

“ Only a dog, monsieur. A little dog whose long, silky hair 
was as white as the dress in which we buried my Gracieuse. 
Round its neck was a blue leather collar, upon which was worked 
in raised gold a princely coronet and the letter P. But now 
everything was stained with blood — clotted blood, which clung 
to my hands and to my rohe de chamhre^ and seemed to get in- 
side me somehow and cling to my heart. 

“ Listen, monsieur. I knew the dog belonged to Monsieur de 
Pobeldowski, and I knew too — I knew it by instinct — that it 
was he who had beaten it to death. There were plenty of ru- 
mors concerning him floating about Lucerne, and not a few of 
them had penetrated even to my humble lodging chez Madame 
Papillote, Tez-de-chau8see. But rumors are not invariably correct, 
and therefore we are not bound to believe that mademoiselle, if 
she falls, will not be the first victim of her sex by many who 
have perished in swamps, attracted thither by the will-o’-the- 
wisp of his wonderful beauty ; nor that he once caused a dis- 
obedient servant to be tortured to death ; nor that — but why re- 
call them all? They are doubtless exaggerated, for even in 
distant Hungary — he is a Hungarian — there must, mme pour 
les princes^ be something like law. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


41 


“Yet there is one crime laid to his charge of so serious a 
nature that I cannot refrain from mentioning it. He was not 
always the ruling prince. There was an elder brother whom the 
people loved, for he was brave and good and gentle, and this 
brother died — was killed. Let me tell you how. 

“ One day there was to be a grand boar hunt in the forest, 
and the princes, both of whom were passionately fond of this 
diversion, were to take part in it. I heard from a bystander, 
one of the suite, that it was a splendid sight to see them mounted, 
a gallant retinue surrounding them, the bugles blowing, the 
hounds straining at their leashes and panting for the chase. The 
princess mother — stepmother of the elder, and who hated him 
— was there to see them depart, and it was remembered long 
after how the elder prince turned back towards her, his impa- 
tient horse rearing high at the sudden check, to say : ‘ Mother, 
there is a strange foreboding in my heart ; if I have ever sinned 
against thee, forgive it now, for the sake of this my brother, 
whom we both love so dearly.’ 

“ The people never forgot how the pale cheek of the princess 
turned to sickly yellow at these noble words, nor how she shrank 
from him as if his soft voice had been a blow. They remem- 
bered, too, how the younger prince— Prince Eberhard — struck 
his spurs into the flanks of the flery animal he rode, so that it 
started ofi at a flerce gallop. The whole brilliant cavalcade fol- 
lowed, leaving behind in the courtyard of the palace a silence 
like the silence of death. 

“ Never was such a hunt. Every shot told, and the princes 
and their followers seemed alike insatiable. At last the day 
began to fade, and they were forced to return to the spot where 
the horses were waiting. 

“ As they turned to go, another shot echoed through the dark- 
ening wood, followed by a cry of such intense horror that every 
leaflet in the broad forest, every startled bird in the thickets, 
every drop of blood in the hearts present seemed to stand still 
to listen. And then the people knew that the noblest of them 
all had fallen — that it was the life-blood of their beloved prince 
which was sickening every blade of grass upon the sward. After 
this manner your enemy and mine, monsieur, came into the rights 
of the firstborn. 

“Yet the people said it was an accident.” 


42 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


My little friend at this point sank into reflection — reflection 
which was so deep and profound that he only emerged from it 
at the gates of Lucerne. 

“ Behold our destination,” he cried, “ and my story is only 
just begun.” 

“ Finish,” I said. “ Let us turn again ; my time is my own.” 

“But not mine,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders, and 
looking up at me with his expressive French grimace. “ What 
a delusion it is of ours, my friend, to think we rule the women, 
when, nine times out of ten, they so despotically rule us.” 

“ What has that to do with your story ?” 

“ Only this, that it terminates it for the present. I shall get 
something warm for supper to-night, and yet go to bed hungry 
and cold. There’s a riddle for you.” 

“ Come to my hotel and sup with me.” 

hien, mon ami, but I prefer to pay to-day’s debts to- 
day. Au revoir'' 

“ Come and breakfast with me to-morrow.” 

“ I will do that gladly, and finish my story, too, if it will not 
weary you.” 

And he was gone, first having saluted military fashion, his 
open hand against his shabby hat. There was something mili- 
tary in his walk, too, I thought, as I watched him pacing down 
the street from under the broad porte-cochere of my hotel. 

Well, Fate had poured a good deal into my empty life this day ! 


CHAPTER IX. 

A c6telette, a cat, and a captain. 

“L’homme est si grand que sa grandeur paroit meme en ce qu’il se con- 
noit miserable. Un arbre ne se connoit pas mis6rable. II est vrai que c’est 
etre miserable que de se connoitre miserable ; mais c’est aussi etre grand 
que de connoitre qu’on est miserable, Ainsi toutes ces miseres prouvent sa 
grandeur. Ce sont misferes de grand seigneur, miseres d’un roi detrone.” 

^ Pascal. 

I WAS long in sinking to sleep, and when I awoke it was hard- 
ly yet morning. I walked to my window, threw it open, and 
looked out. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


43 


Long rows of lighted windows casting faint reflections on the 
lake showed me that the ever-active Kellner were at their morn- 
ing work, and Nature outside was astir and busy trimming the 
mighty lamp which would soon extinguish the others every one. 
The east was bright in glowing expectation of the returning 
monarch of day ; the usurping moon had fled in alarm ; the 
stars, his courtiers, were wan and pale in the morning sky ; the 
mountains were shaking off the mists in which their heads had 
been shrouded during the night ; the green waters of the lake 
were rippling a musical welcome to the golden sunbeams ; while 
the snowy top of many a virgin peak was beginning to crimson 
like the pure cheek of a maiden under the fiery kiss of her lover. 

I had been restless during the night, haunted by many strange 
visions. Little white dogs, clammy with blood, had looked up 
at me with human eyes, and spoken to me with human voices. 
Beauteous ladies had called upon me to come to their assistance. 
Frenchmen had rescued me from poisonous daggers levelled at 
my heart, and, oddly enough, the instant afterwards challenged 
me to mortal combat. Gendarmes had dragged me off to prison, 
to die there at my leisure, like the fair lady of Ballyacora Hall. 
Madame Papillote had snatched untasted suppers from my fam- 
ishing lips. Princes had fallen before me like stubble before 
the wind. And in the midst of all I had felt Aileen’s wet cheek 
against my own, while my father stood up to curse me, only pre- 
vented by a woman’s resolute hand over his mouth, and a w^om- 
an’s earnest voice saying, “ Let the cruel thing that weaned a 
brother from a sister answer that.” 

The full day had been succeeded by a fuller night. A thou- 
sand interests had sprung up in a life which had been atrophizing 
for want of one. 

My new leader was as punctual as the waiter with our break- 
fast, and the last stroke of ten found us together in the private 
room where I had ordered it should be laid. I would not let 
him talk much until his appetite was appeased, for I had noted 
the wistful glance he cast upon the viands, and remembered his 
own sombre prediction of the night before. 

So I replenished his plate with every good thing I could find 
to put upon it, keenly watching him while I ostensibly played 
with my knife and fork, for I had no appetite, because I believe 
you may gain much knowledge of a man’s character from the 


44 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


way in which he eats. And, as I watched, my confidence in him 
was confirmed, and my heart went out to this new acquaintance 
freely and unreservedly. 

For, firstly, he ate like a gentleman ; he was undeniably hun- 
gry, and the viands were such as to give the spur to appetite, 
but in the midst of his appreciation and enjoyment he never 
forgot propriety. Then, again, he ate like a man of sound and 
unimpaired digestion. Beginning with more substantial dain- 
ties, he finished up with a huge slice of sweet cake — which I 
couldn’t have touched — and finally pledged me in a glass of 
sparkling Veuve Clicquot, his eyes as sparkling as it, like a man 
who knows the use but not the abuse of the good gifts of God. 
Your drunkard cannot eat like that, still less the man of vicious 
life. I was only twenty-two, and he, at least, sixty ; but, alas ! I 
couldn’t remember the meal which had given me half the inno- 
cent pleasure. 

“ Behold me satisfied at last,” he said. “ Truly, monsieur, 
you have entertained me with a dejeuner fit for a prince.” 

“ Did you get any supper last night ?” I asked, smiling. 

“ Ah, you may well inquire, judging of my prowess to-day ! 
No, monsieur, but the cat did.” 

“ The cat ?” 

“ Monsieur, she is an animal of great discernment. She acts 
as my Nemesis.” 

“ Why don’t you hang her ?” 

“ Sooth to say, monsieur, such a thought has sometimes come 
to me, but I have rejected it. Do not we prey upon all animals ? 
Can we blame them if they sometimes prey upon us? Never- 
theless, I think that my Nemesis is sometimes hard upon me.” 

“How?” 

“A little punishment is salutary, monsieur, and teaches us 
humility, but an overdose is a folly as well as a wrong, because 
it rouses up resistance. Now, I confess to having felt badly 
treated this morning when my coffee and petit pain also were 
appropriated by that insatiable animal. And I could not quite 
agree with Madame Papillote, who said that I deserved it.” 

I laughed. There was something comical in his distress, and 
in the droll way in which he gave it utterance. 

“ Ah, monsieur, you laugh, and Madame Papillote scolds, yet 
for all that I find that my little cross is sometimes hard to bear. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


45 


Madame Papillote says slie is a mother to me, but, to tell the 
truth, I feel occasionally that she is more mardtre than mere. 
However, we have had enough of myself. Let us consider what 
to do next. And, firstly, can you still, after a night’s rest, con- 
sent with all your heart to be my ally ?” 

“ To be your aide-de-cam]), to follow your banner? Yes, mon- 
sieur, with all my heart.” 

“ And you do not even first inquire who I am ?” 

“ No, monsieur. Your face is in the full light of day, and 
there is no shadow there to shame it. Your eyes meet mine 
straight and unflinchingly. For the rest, I have heard you talk, 
and I have seen you eat.” 

It was his turn to laugh now, and he did laugh heartily. But 
there was something like a mist before his eyes, and his hand 
trembled as he put it into his pocket. 

“ You gave me a grand testimony yesterday, mon ami, and you 
gave it me unsolicited and with frank confidence. You said I 
was a gentleman, and you did not mean that I was an aristo- 
crat, did you ?” 

I checked the smile which began to curl my lips as my eye 
rested involuntarily on his well-brushed pantaloons, his frayed 
linen collar and shiny surtout, and I answered boldly, “ I did 
not.” 

“ Merci bien, monsieur. Thank you heartily for that as well 
as for the other. I have a little word to say to you about the 
aristocrats before we commence our work. Un tout petit mot, 
monsieur ; do not have fear. In the meantime, regardez.^' 

He had drawn a card from his pocket, carefully wrapped in a 
scrap of newspaper. I opened it and read : 

LOUIS-ADOLPHE MOPPERT, 

Capitaine au 6'7“® Regiment de Ligne. 

“ Ha, a soldier ! A real captain to fight under !” 

“I was a soldier, monsieur. I helped, side by side with 
many a brave comrade, to fight a grand battle for France. But 
we did not risk our lives and the lives of those dear to us — we 
other Frenchmen — to grovel at the feet of an emperor. We did 
not drive out kings and their sycophants to worship a golden 
calf in the shape of a Napoleon. Bear witness, all ye other na- 
tions of the earth, we were not fools enough for that !” 


46 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


He had sprung to his feet, his fist clenched, his mild, some- 
times sarcastic, eye irate and fiery. 

“ Pardon, monsieur,” he added, more quietly, as he reseated 
himself, “ it is a subject which puts every drop of my old blood 
into motion, and makes me twenty-six again instead of sixty. 
For they offered me — me, monsieur — a de before my honest 
name — they would have made of me — of Moppert, monsieur — a 
hatching duke !” 

“ And you would rather be yourself ?” 

“ In my humble lodging, rez-de-chaussecy chez Madame Papil- 
lote — a cat the arbiter of my destiny. Mais ouiy monsieur y you 
have said it.” 

I was silent and sat watching him, my head upon my hand. 

“ My face is in the full light, as you have already remarked, 
monsieur, and yours, facing it, is therefore in shadow, and still 
further shrouded by your hand. I feel the expression you par- 
tially hide rather than see it, and I feel it in my inmost soul.” 

“ What expression, monsieur ?” 

“ Listen, mon ami ; speak truth to Moppert, even if that truth 
must murder remorselessly a new-born hope. Let it perish 
rather than be reared upon a lie.” 

“ What is it you want to know, monsieur ? Ask, and I will 
answer like — like an honest man.” 

“ Bon ! that is better even than gentleman. Tell me then, 
would you have consented more willingly to work with me if I 
had been a dtike, or even Monsieur de Moppert ?” 

“ Not one iota.” 

“ Bon again ! My soul begins to expand. I shake off one 
fear which was heavy upon it.” 

“ Yet another remains?” 

“ Truly, monsieur, I will be as honest as you and frankly 
avow it. There is another. It has shrunk to half its size, but 
is not dead. It breathes, it moves, it is capable of growth 
still.” 

“ Tell it me.” 

“ I will go back a little way and tell you how it was begotten. 
It had no existence yesterday. And first I will tell you how it 
was that I ventured to speak to you yesterday, and even to act 
for you, the stranger. I was on my quest, as usual. I was 
looking for an ally. You are not the first whom Monsieur de 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


47 


Pobeldowski has wantonly insulted. He takes deliberate pleas- 
ure in forcing every one with whom he comes in contact to lick 
the dust. And there are many, monsieur, who feel it an honor 
to lick dust at the feet of a prince. 

“ But even before that thunderous encounter, when for the 
first time he met with furious opposition, I had been watching 
you with interest. You are young, handsome, evidently rich. 
Why should you have stood among the gay crowd like an image 
of despair? — no, not of despair, you had left that behind, and 
there was nothing beyond you but death.” 

I started. By what magical power had the little man been 
enabled to look into my heart ? 

“ Yet, at the very moment when you thought you had outlived 
love, love was close beside you, waiting to lay a thrilling touch 
upon your heart. The very power to hate had perished within 
you, you fancied, when all the time hate was sharpening a dag- 
ger to put into your hand. You deemed that you had done 
with life, when life roughly came to shake you out of your leth- 
argy, saying : ‘ It is work, not pleasure, which is my aim and 
end. I have work for thee to do ; come and do it !’ ” 

It was true. I had learned to live anew since yesterday. 

“ A few minutes later, monsieur, I knew that I had found an 
ally, and that the ally was one after my own heart. For it is 
when the passions are all ablaze that we see the man as he is. 
There is no concealing crust of conventionality over him then. 
Yesterday I thought you were bourgeois like myself.” 

' “ And to-day, monsieur ?” 

“ To-day I am puzzled, anxious, and uneasy. You have very 
much the air of a grand seigneur as you sit there before me, and 
a grand seigneur is to me what a cat is to a dog. Nature makes 
me want to worry him. I do not like that curl on your lip, nor 
those beringed hands, nor that insouciant smile, which seems as 
natural to you as the fauteuil on which you are lounging. Look 
at my hands ; and as for fauteuilsy monsieur, a wooden stool is 
the seat for which I was born !” 

“ Well, suppose I am an aristocrat ?” 

“t/e m^en doute, monsieur. You are either one, or have lived 
so much among them that you have imbibed a good deal of — let 
us say their odor. Well, I accept the inevitable. I will not let 
my dislike for a class lead me into injustice against an individual. 


48 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Give me the hand, monsieur. We will be allies and — and 
friends all the same.” 

“ Or suppose I am not ?” 

“ Ah, monsieur, you must not mock yourself of Moppert. 1 
— I accept the inevitable, but I cannot joke about it. I, have 
suffered too much, I and France, to bear even a light finger on 
that wound. I am a republican to the nails on my fingers and 
toes, monsieur. I may love you, but I cannot love your class. 
I cannot lift a hand to save — nay, I am compelled to help to 
drive them to their certain doom. Bon Dieu ! Were the mil- 
lions made for the few, or the few for the millions ?” 

“ Be consoled, monsieur. I am no more an aristocrat than 
yourself. I am nothing and nobody.” 

And I covered my face with my hands, ashamed of my use- 
less life and the years I had wasted. 

He almost sprang to the ceiling in his excitement. He clasped 
me to his heart, embracing me again and again. 

“ Venez^^' he cried. “ Even this big salon is too small to hold 
me. Let us go down to the lake and smoke a cigarette, and lay 
our plans with clearer heads than we have now. Come, my 
friend.” 

I instantly acceded to his proposal, and we passed out of the 
shadow of the salon into the brilliant sunshine of the glowing 
noon outside. 


CHAPTER X. 

JOSEF AUFDERMAUER. 

“ Auf den Bergen wohnt die Freiheit, und am Meere wird man niemals 
Sclave.” — Gutzkow. 

There was not a cloud to be seen in the deep blue sky as we 
passed out from under the shadow of the broad porte-cochere, 
and the rugged summit of Mount Pilate stood out darkly dis- 
tinct from its brilliant sapphire background. As we sauntered 
down to the water’s edge, lazily puffing the smoke from our 
scented cigarettes, I was struck by the extreme stillness of the 
emerald water and the unwonted richness of its coloring. 
Everything seemed sunk in repose except ourselves; the very 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


49 


flies had ceased to buzz over the glassy surface of the water, 
unharassed by the fish which lay motionless under them, and 
the houses of Lucerne, their windows hidden behind green Ve- 
netian blinds, were slumbering with their inmates. The sun, 
high in the heavens, sent scorching rays down upon the burn- 
ing earth, which, like a heated stove, seemed to give back what 
it received with usury. The only moving things were a solitary 
pleasure-boat, lazily propelled by the hands of some doubtlessly 
mad Englishman, and the smoke from a steamer bound for 
Fliielen, which, too weary to rise, fell darkly back upon its deck 
again. 

“ Comme il fait chaud !" said Moppert. 

“ How hot it is !” I repeated. 

“ It was cooler yonder in the salonf said my little friend, 
lighting a fresh cigarette. “We had better have stayed there, 
mon ami. Look how intensely blue the sky is, and how clearly 
defined the peaks of Mount Pilate ; yet I never remember this 
burning, sulphurous feel in the air since the night I found 
Gracieuse. And that was followed by a fearful storm, though 
there is no sign of a storm to-day.” 

“ Not one,” I answered, untying my cravat and loosening my 
collar. “ It was certainly cooler in the salon, as you say ; never- 
theless, I do not want to go back.” 

“ Youth never does,” said the Frenchman, quietly; “ it leaves 
that for age.” 

“ Look at the boat yonder,” I said ; “ the Spaniards say that 
only dogs and Englishman go abroad in the sunshine of the 
noonday, but you may depend upon it the rower is right. If 
there is a breath of air to be found anywhere it will be upon the 
lake.” 

“ Me voild tout pretf said Moppert, “ and there are boats 
enough ; but where is the boatman ?” 

I looked round. There were plenty of boats, big ones and 
little ones ; some drawn up upon the shore, some upon the 
water ; but not a single man to be seen anywhere, only a bare- 
footed boy, sitting under the shadow of a boat, nursing a baby. 

“ See, there’s little Josef,” said Moppert. “ How is the baby, 
Josef?” 

“ Pretty quiet just now, sir, thank you.” 

“ That little lad is the eldest of seven,” said Moppert. “ We 
4 


50 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


call him the boy-mother, because his mother is bedridden, and 
he takes care of the others. Poor little lad, he is a cripple.” 

I drew out a piece of gold. 

The boy’s eyes glistened, but he put out no hand to receive it. 

“ Herre, I have done nothing to earn it.” 

“ But you shall,” I said ; “ fetch me a boatman.” 

“ Fetch your father, Josef,” said Moppert ; “ he is the best 
boatman in Lucerne ; and take the money for the mother.” 

The boy took it now, though with much hesitation. “ The 
mother is ill,” he said, the color rushing to his face. Then he 
limped off, baby and all. 

“ When I have had a particularly hard time with Madame 
Papillote and her cat,” said the Frenchman, gravely, “ I come 
down to the shore and let that cripple lad teach me how to 
bear. He will not teach for long, monsieur. Such as he die 
early.” 

A moment more of waiting, and then Moppert cried : 

“ Void Josef’s father ! Good-day, Aufdermauer.” 

The man touched his cap in acknowledgment of the greeting. 

“Good-day, gentlemen,” he responded. “Was it you who 
sent our Josef to request me to find you a boat?” 

His use of the word “ request” {bitten) instead of “ com- 
mand,” the free-and-easy manner of his salutation, courteous, 
but with the courtesy of a lieutenant to his colonel — gentlemen 
both — impressed me. And I thought of William Tell, and won- 
dered if he in any way resembled this man. 

“Yes,” I said, “we want a boat; find us one as soooi as 
possible.” 

He did not speak for a moment, only turned his dark eyes 
up towards the sky, letting them rest on the summit of Mount 
Pilate. 

“ Mount Pilate has no collar on to-day,” said Moppert. “ I 
know the signs of the weather as well as you, Aufdermauer. 
To-day a child might row on Vierwalddatter-SeeP 

“ Gentlemen,” said the boatman, without replying to this 
remark, “ my boat will be ready in five minutes ; it is lying 
yonder. I will row you myself.” 

“ We do not want a boatman,” I said ; “ I shall not require 
you.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said the boatman again, after another rapid 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


51 


glance at sky and lake, “ I will take you out for a row myself 
and be glad to do it. I was born here on tbe shores of the lake 
and know what Mount Pilate means when he lifts a finger. You 
must not go out alone to-day.” 

Must not? I had been one of the crack rowers at Oxford, 
and this man’s evident contempt for my prowess nettled me. 
I was a spoiled child of fortune, and his “must not” made me 
determined that I would. 

“ Get your boat ready,” I repeated, haughtily. “ We shall 
not want you.” 

His dark eyes flashed, then he said, with effort : “ Sir, I have 
seen the piece of gold you gave our Josef, and I cannot take it 
away from my wife again, who has already shed tears of joy 
over it. Hear me a moment. Last summer, a young man, one 
of your countrymen, took his bride out alone upon the lake.” 

“ What has that to do with me ?” 

“ Only this, Herre,” he continued, his great dark eyes flash- 
ing again ; “ only this, that the young wife sleeps now in the 
churchyard of Lucerne, and he, the harebrained husband, sleeps 
and wakes, both in a madhouse. You cannot turn a deaf ear 
to the spirits of our lakes ; they will be heeded and obeyed.” 

I was staggered. For a moment I thought of yielding, then 
I raised my eyes to the sky and laughed at the absurdity of his 
fear. There was not a eloud in it as big as a man’s hand. The 
boatman was only humbugging us in order to increase the value 
of his services. 

“ I am poor,” continued the man — an obvious fact of which 
he did not need to inform us — “ and can make use of every 
centime I earn, but I would rather not earn another franc this 
week than let you go out alone to-day.” 

Let us^ forsooth ! Who was this man, that he dared gainsay 
my wishes ? The idle desire of half an hour ago had grown into 
a furious longing under the stimulus of opposition. 

“ If you cannot supply us with a boat, there are others who 
can, I suppose,” I said, with simulated eoolness. “ For the rest, 
there was no need of your putting so much stress on your value. 
I should have paid you as much for your absence as for your 
presence.” 

The man’s strong frame quivered with suppressed passion. 
“ Sir, it is not that,” he said ; “ you know it is not that. I am 


52 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


paid already. There is my boat, it is unmoored, take it. The 
dear God knows I have done what I could.” 

In another minute or so we were in the boat, a rapidly in- 
creasing space of green water between it and the handsome 
figure of Josef Aufdermauer, who stood looking after us, his 
hand shading his eyes from the burning sunlight. I had heard 
his parting words to Moppert, who had followed me mechani- 
cally. “ Herre,” he said, “ you are older and wiser than the 
Englander; for Heaven’s sake, keep your eye upon Mount Pilate.” 

I pulled hard at the oars in spite of the heat, ashamed to look 
at my friend, who sat motionless by the rudder and uttered not 
a word. I knew, too, that I lied when I said, a few minutes 
later : 

“ Ce ne sont que des sottisesy monsieur. The fellow wanted to 
humbug us.” 

“ You have said it,” he answered, monotonously, using his 
customary words of assent, but with no assent in them now. 
“ But how hot it is — how hot it is !” 

It was hot, for a certainty. The sweat stood in thick beads 
upon my forehead. There was a suffocating feel in the air, 
which compelled us to draw our breath with effort or hold it 
with nature. The blue vault, arched so high above, neverthe- 
less weighed upon us like an incubus, and the smoke from the 
chimneys in Lucerne, like the smoke of the steamer, too slug- 
gish to rise, fell back again upon the city. I would have re- 
turned but for shame, and I resolved to keep a strict watch, and 
to pull for the shore on the slightest sign of disturbance in the 
sky. In the meantime I must arouse Moppert and induce him 
to look at me, instead of at Mount Pilate. 

“ Tell me the rest of your story,” I said ; “ I can row and 
listen too.” 

My ruse was successful. His face brightened. His anxious 
eye cleared. He turned his head away from the shore and the 
two bugbears there, the mountain and the mountain’s interpreter, 
and looked at me instead. 

I put into my face a confidence I did not feel. I smiled his 
fears away, and, rowing hard, in order to lose sight of Josef 
Aufdermauer, encouraged him to begin. 

We were now alone upon the lake. The solitary boat with 
its occupant had disappeared, and the quiet around us was um 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


53 


disturbed except by the splash of my oars. Moppert began to 
narrate, and soon, in the interest of his story, which made the 
beads on his forehead swell into heavy drops and fall, we had 
both forgotten Josef Aufdermauer and his warning to keep an 
eye upon Mount Pilate. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE REASON WHY. 

“ Et via vix tandem voci laxata dolore est.” — ^Virgil {^neid). 

“ Chi puo dir com’ egli arde, e uii picciol fuoco.” — Petrarca. 

The little dog did not die, monsieur. I washed the blood 
from its wounds, put it in the bed beside me, and let it lie there 
until the morning. 

Whether it slept or not, I cannot tell. The storm which 
Mount Pilate had announced broke upon us, and during it sleep 
was impossible for me. My little room was illuminated by a 
light more intense than that of the sun to-day, and the crash of 
the thunder was so terrible and continuous that more than once 
I thought Lucerne must have fallen, as did the walls of Jericho. 

“ When it subsided, I arose from my sleepless couch, and 
looked long at my unique bedfellow. 

“ It was not sleeping then. It was gazing up at me with 
dark, soft, trustful eyes, for all the world like those of my lost 
Gracieuse. 

“ Then I stooped and took it in my arms and said : ‘ See, 
little one ! Thou and I art outcasts ; both of us have been 
cruelly ill-used by those whom we would have loved and hon- 
ored. Let us live henceforth together, foregoing the vengeance 
I have sworn during this night. Didst thou, too, understand 
the words of the thunder when it said : “ Vengeance is mine ?” ’ 

“ It wagged its tail, monsieur, just as if it had, and licked my 
hand ; and so we sealed our compact, Gracieuse and I, and the 
dog became my own. 

“ We led a harassed life though, for the next week or two. 
Madame Papillote extorted a most exorbitant price for its board, 
putting me also upon short rations to make up for it in another 


54 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


way. As for the cat — monsieur, I confess — there is yet a little 
bottle of poison in my cupboard, hidden behind the tisane, and 
a bit of rope. 

“We could not stand it at last. I was obliged to seek other 
lodgings for Gracieuse. So I took her to the hut of a charcoal- 
burner, and left her there in charge of the man’s blind daugh- 
ter, Gabrielle. I was forced to hide her for fear of meeting her 
former master and would-be murderer ; but every day, weather 
permitting, I took my promenade in the wood, spending my 
happiest hours there with Gracieuse, both of us what the Ger- 
mans call vogelfrei. 

“ I must not forget to say that I sent back the blue leather 
collar, its costly gold embroidery all stained with blood, to Mon- 
sieur le Prince. And I added a few lines written in blood, too — 
the blood of the dog. They were but a few : only to the effect 
that, if we ever came into contact, it should be his fault ; but if 
we did. Heaven have mercy on him, for I would have none. 

“ How much I learned to love the dog, monsieur, I hardly 
venture to tell you. You would- think it folly, no doubt. But 
the pretty creature loved me, and seemed to know that it was I 
who had saved it. It would run from Gabrielle to meet me, 
frantic with delight, and on those days that I could not come, 
it would refuse its food, sitting with drooping tail and ears in 
a corner, an image of desolation. 

“ Thus the months slipped by, and the golden leaves turned 
to russet brown, and, dropping one by one, were covering the 
earth with a brown mantle to protect it from the winter’s cold. 

“ I noticed this as I walked through the wood towards the 
hut, by the side of a little rippling rivulet imbedded in a stony 
couch softened by moss. No bird was singing, but my heart 
supplied the deficiency, and sang a duet with the water, as it 
murmured of the clear lake towards which it was hastening. 
My heart felt unusually blithe that day ; the air was fresh though 
soft, permeated by that peculiarly invigorating element which 
only autumn yields. 

“ Monsieur, if you are not tired, row a little harder for a mo- 
ment, that my nerves may be steadied by the feeling of doing 
something. Did you ever feel particularly well just before an 
illness, or particularly happy just when Fate was raising the knife 
to cut the throat of your happiness ? 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


55 


“ I was surprised to find the cottage-door close shut ; it was 
usually wide open to welcome me. And why was Gracieuse so 
tardy? and what had silenced Gabrielle’s clear song? Yet I 
smiled ; I smiled, monsieur, as I tapped at the door. Ha ! ha ! 
the soft wind had carried away the sound of my coming ; they 
were not expecting me, and all the greater would be their delight. 

“ My rap was answered, but — by what ? By the piteous, ter- 
rified, imploring howl of a dog ! Then silence so profound that 
the gentle ripple of the rivulet sounded like the roar of a cataract. 

“ I tried the door ; it was fastened. 

“ I knocked again ; loudly, angrily, imperatively. My heart’s 
rapid beat sounded as ominous, as the tick of the death-watch, 
and the sweat stood on my brow in thicker drops than it does 
to-day. Was that fierce, harsh voice mine, saying : ‘ Gracieuse^ 
ma petite^ sois tranquille ! C'est moV 

“The next moment I was in the one room of the cottage; 
half of it stove, on the top of which poor blind Gabrielle slept. 
Gabrielle was not there ; only Gracieuse, crouched in a corner, 
her bright eyes wide with terror. 

“ Monsieur, row a little faster still, if you please. I must fee. 
like doing something while I speak. Oh, the pain, the pain of 
this inaction! the torture of being forced to wait instead of 
fight ! 

“ I suppose I had broken open the door myself. I cannot 
tell. I only know that I was there, as I should have been if 
stone walls had tried to shut me out. There are crises in our 
lives, monsieur, when we can do anything^ when every earthly 
consideration, every conventional bond, nay, even apparently in- 
superable obstacles, are as powerless to restrain us as the thread 
of a spider’s web. 

“ There were two or three men in the room. I felt their pres- 
ence, for my eyes saw nothing but Gracieuse. I knew, too, who 
they were ; for, monsieur, if we are warned instinctively of the 
nearness of what we love, we feel still more infallibly the con- 
tact of what we hate. 

“ But I spoke quietly — oh, so quietly ! — raising my hat and 
bowing low as I said : ‘ Gentlemen, pardon my intrusion ; I am 
gone again in a moment. It is but to fetch my dog that I come.’ 
And I added, more softly still : ‘ Gracieuse^ ma petite, sois tran- 
quille ! C'est moV 


56 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ I stooped and took her in my arms, monsieur, and the trance 
of terror into which she had fallen dispersed somewhat when 
she felt my caress. I stroked her silky hair and pressed her to 
my heart, turning to go without another word — as noiselessly, 
as submissively as if I had been an unhallowed intruder into a 
sanctuary and these men its high priests. When I passed their 
chief, I bowed low again and entreatingly, as if beseeching him 
to forgive my sacrilege. For oh, monsieur, love is very power- 
ful ; it can teach us to bear profoundest humiliation, forcing us 
even to lick the dust from the feet of a Prince de Pobeldowski ! 

“ I had only taken a few steps, when a voice, as quiet as mine, 
called on me to stop. You have heard its liquid music, mon- 
sieur. Could Satan, tempting Christ in the wilderness, have 
found a voice better suited for his purpose than that ? 

“ ‘ By what right are you its master V said the prince. 

“I turned and looked straight into the face I hated so in- 
tensely. I saw the triumphant sparkle in his eye, the quivering 
of his nostril, the smile curling his lips — like the smile of a 
tiger ready to spring. And I forgot my humanity as I looked, 
in the brutish instinct to fly at his throat and cling there, until 
he, or I, or both of us, were dead.” 

I had been rowing almost as rapidly as the Frenchman had 
been narrating — the high tension of feeling into which he had 
worked us both passing on into my muscles until I grew insensi- 
ble to fatigue. Now, as he paused, I paused also, resting on my 
oars and letting the boat drive with the current. We had long 
since lost sight of Lucerne. 

“ ‘ By what right V said the prince. 

“‘By a right divine and sacred,’ I answered — and now my 
voice was choked with passion and tremulous with fury — ‘ the 
right of having saved it from a cruel death.’ 

“ ‘ A very poetical right, truly,’ laughed the prince — his com- 
panions laughing with him — ‘ but hardly a legal one, monsieur. 
I bought and paid for the dog, and my right, though psycho- 
logically less interesting than yours, is more likely to be re- 
garded. But I have no time to refer the matter to others. I 
am already en route for Hungary. I must settle it at once.’ 

“ In spite of the sneer in his tone, his words seemed to point 
out a hope. In spite of the cruel gleam in his eye, I seized the 
hope and clung to it. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


51 


“ ‘ Let me buy the dog,’ I cried, eagerly. < I am poor, but I 
will borrow money. I will work, I will starve, to pay the price 
you name.’ 

“ ‘ The dog is priceless,’ he answered ; ‘ there is not its fellow 
in Europe. You might sell yourself and fail to realize its value. 
But for lack of time, I would have you arrested for dog-steal- 
ing.’ 

“‘Monsieur,’ I answered, ‘have a care. I am a soldier of 
France.’ 

“ ‘ So much the better,’ he replied ; ‘ we will settle it on the 
spot. It was you, therefore, who sent me back the collar and 
the words accompanying it.’ 

“ ‘ Monsieur,’ I said, beseechingly (do not think meanly oL 
me, my friend, it was for Gracieuse), ‘ those words were written 
in hot anger : forget them, as I will.’ 

“ ‘ I never forget,’ he answered, ‘ and never forgive. Those 
words were written in blood ; I shall give them back in blood, 
to-day.’ 

“ I trembled. Monsieur, I am not afraid to die. I have stood 
firm at the cannon’s mouth and rushed forward upon fixed bay- 
onets with a cry of delight, but now I turned sick with fear. 
There was something impending over me I should not be able 
to bear. 

“ ‘ I make a proposition to you, monsieur,’ continued the 
prince. ‘ Look at the dog, she knows me better than you do ; 
she^knows that I never forgive.’ 

“ It was true. Her fear of him, pauvre petite, was greater 
than her confidence in me. She had sprung from my arms and 
was lying crouched at his feet — not in hope of averting her 
doom : oh, my God ! not in hope ! 

“ ‘ She used to be my favorite,’ he went on, smiling that cruel 
smile of his, ‘ and she ventured to disobey me. I punished her. 
Look here.’ 

“He opened his beautiful right hand and showed me the 
palm. There was a slight scar upon it. 

“ ‘ She ventured further to resent her punishment, monsieur, 
and then — well, you know what then.’ 

“ Yes, I knew, I knew ! But, like a prudent soldier, I spared 
my forces until every tittle of them would be needed for action. 

‘ I spoke of a proposition, monsieur,’ continued the prince. 


58 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


‘ If you accede to it, I will make you a free gift of Donna, un- 
harmed.’ 

“ There was no sign of hope in his words now, not a particle. 
I waited. 

“ ‘ I have been seeking you and Donna, monsieur, many a long 
day,’ he said. had nearly given you up in despair. But 
fortune favored me ; she always does.’ 

“ I waited still. 

“ ‘ This morning — only this morning — one of my people rec- 
ognized Donna with a blind girl on the outskirts of Lucerne.’ 

“ Oh, unhappy Gabrielle ! How wilt thou bear to hear what 
thou hast done ? 

“ ‘ Only blood will satisfy me,’ he continued ; ‘ yours or the 
dog’s. I will accept a propitiatory sacrifice. Once she was my 
favorite. I liked to feel her lick my hand and rub her head 
against my knee.’ 

“ Oh, great God, are there not chords even in this man’s heart 
which may be touched to tenderness ! Oh, blessed and pitiful 
Virgin, he had once a mother and thou a son ! 

“ ‘ I give you your choice,’ he continued. ‘ Bare your back 
to my executioner; we will only flog you to within an inch of 
your life ; and Donna shall be yours.’ And he added : ‘ Do you 
like to have her lick your hand and rub her head against your 
knee ?’ 

“ Only think of this, mon ami — of this to we, a soldier of 
France ! 

“ ‘ I cast your infamous proposition back in your teeth !’ I 
cried ; and now I rushed upon him, ready to struggle to the 
death. ‘ I am a soldier and an officer ; my honor is dearer to 
me than my life.’ 

“‘You have chosen,’ he answered, and, as he spoke, I was 
seized by his vile companions, who held me as in a vise. 

“ Monsieur, I was one, and they were two ; I was old and com- 
paratively feeble, they were young and vigorous ; yet twice I 
wrenched my pinioned arms loose ere I was conquered. 

“ It was he who struck her — Ae, who had once loved to feel 
her lick his hand and rub her soft head against his knee ! When 
I saw the red blood spout from the wound, my spirit suecumbed 
as well as my body ; my love was stronger than my honor. I 
cried out : ‘ Do with me as you will, but spare her ’’ 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


59 


“ I yielded in vain, monsieur. lie only struck again, laugh- 
ing and saying, ‘ You have chosen, and I know now which pun- 
ishment is the greater.’ 

“ She was not long in dying. The first blow, or the terror of 
it, stunned her on the spot, for she uttered no further sound. 
When he paused and they liberated me, we all stood still a mo- 
ment — the murderers as well as I — with bated breath and paling 
faces, for something terrible seemed to rise up from the spot, 
red with her life-blood, and to stand there in the midst of us. 

“No one spoke a word when I lifted her and pressed her to 
my heart. No one sought to hinder me. I passed unmolested 
through the midst of them, opened the door of the cottage, and 
stepped out into the porch. 

“ There I turned, quite tearless and composed, and said quiet- 
ly — more quietly than ever — for God was speaking, and all crea- 
tion holding its breath to listen : 

“ ‘ Prince, we shall meet again, and it will be my turn then. 
Look — and I raised the dog high — look at the debt you have in- 
curred, and remember that it must all be paid to the uttermost 
farthing.’ 

“ I buried her, monsieur, in a little dell in the forest, where, 
over her grave, violets would spring and birds warble. But I 
shed no tear over the spot, nor uttered one moan, nor chanted 
one requiem. The heavier a blow is the more it stuns, and feel- 
ing at its intensest is as silent as the tomb. 

“ Only a dog, monsieur, only a dog, and yet God knows — !” 

As he ceased, plucking fiercely at his moustache, I heard a 
deep sigh float towards us over the water, and a muttered sound, 
which seemed to issue from the base of the mountains. The 
air was agitated, and two or three huge fish leaped suddenly, 
close to the boat’s prow. I looked up to the sky and saw that 
its blue was beflecked by many a flying cloud, all hastening tow- 
ards the sun, now strongly inclining towards the west. “ Mon- 
sieur,” I cried, “ we have forgotten the boatman’s warning. I 
cannot see Mount Pilate, but is it not a certain sign of a storm 
when the fish are so restless? Had I not better pull for the 
shore ?” 


60 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE FOHN. 

“ 0 solve me the riddle of human life, 

The riddle as terrible as it is old, — 

Tell me what is the meaning of man? 

Whence doth he come? and for where is he bound?” 

Translated from Heine. 

I HAD hardly uttered these words before the air was darkened 
and the sun as completely hidden as if he had already sunk be- 
hind the mountains. Huge masses of cloud covered the sky, 
which had turned to an indescribable color. It was neither pur- 
ple nor red, but looked as if it were illuminated by some gi- 
gantic and infernal firework shining through a dense veil of 
mist. And it spread and spread, until not only the firmament, 
but also the surrounding mountains and the water itself, might 
have been nothing more tangible than the smoke of hell’s own 
fire. 

And in the midst of this our boat stood still — struck motion- 
less ; wrapped round with a brightly gleaming pall. 

We not only felt the lurid death all around us, but we smelt 
and tasted it too. Upon our heads, upon our hands, upon our 
lungs, it weighed with crushing power. It was not so much 
the water that we feared ; it was the air. 

Nature was dumb, and with a menacing finger on our lips 
struck us dumb too. 

I tried my utmost to break the awful charm, but only a fee- 
ble sigh issued from my loaded breast. 

As if even this faint sound had subdued the spell, something 
unseen and terrible, perhaps the spirit of the lake, sighed a deep 
echo. A large fish sprang so high and close to me that the 
water it disturbed splashed my face. The air became violently 
agitated, and a deep bell rang out a solemn warning from the 
shore. A phantom sound, ringing out our knell. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


61 


I looked at Moppert. With wide, dilated eyes he looked 
back at me. 

Then, with a gasp, my voice came back to me. “ Good God !” 
I cried, “ tell me what to do !” I instinctively felt that man’s 
help would be in vain. 

“ Mon ami^' said Moppert, in a voice as hoarse and hopeless 
as the croak of a raven, “ do you know what that bell is say- 
ing ?” 

I could not answer him. I clutched the oars again. If I had 
to die, I would die fighting. 

“ It is the herald of the Fohn,” continued Moppert. “ It is 
to tell the people to put out their fires and candles and to pray 
for the souls of those upon the lake.” 

For their souls only, and I was yet so young, so young ! 

I saw Moppert, with the lurid light upon his pallid face, look- 
ing round wildly as if to find some ray of hope in any one point 
of the compass. I saw him cross himself, and clasp his hands, 
and bow his head, at finding none. 

“ Let us pray,” he said. “ Catholic or Protestant, there is 
but one God, and he is almighty.” 

I was still so young, so young 1 I would break that sombre 
curtain and die, at least, in the open. I would not be pent up 
in a grave while yet alive. 

I pulled at the oars. The boat moved again. 

I pulled at the oars till they bent in my hands. We were 
probably rushing upon death ; but anything was better than to 
sit still in hopeless waiting. 

In the meantime the sighs from the unseen spirit had in- 
creased in volume and intensity, until at last they rose to pierc- 
ing shrieks, which might have been uttered under the agony of 
some infernal rack, beyond even the power of a spirit to endure. 
And now the placid water began to shudder, and to rock us as 
fiercely upon her bosom as an angry nurse might rock an unruly 
child. 

The lurid light had faded, and the darkness grew so intense 
that I could no longer see Moppert. The horror of being quite 
alone in the midst of this awful exhibition of God’s power was 
too great to be endured, and I cried out to him to come to me. 

He came at once, creeping along the bottom of the boat, until 
his hand touched my knee and his warm breath was on my 


62 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


cheek. And we clung together, comforted even in this crisis 
by that human sympathy which is the most precious thing God 
has given us, and which can help us even in the agony of death. 

“ Forgive me,” I said ; “ forgive the wicked obstinacy which 
refused to heed honest warning, and which has cost us both our 
lives.” 

“ Forgive me,” he answered ; “ I was older, and ought to have 
been wiser.” 

Alas I he spoke in the past tense already. 

Then the black pall shrouding earth and heaven was rent 
asunder for a moment by a flaming sword of fire. I saw his face 
again once more, and he saw mine. 

He was looking his fate full in her terrible eyes with the calm, 
resigned look of a soldier and a hero. He was not afraid to 
die. Yet, when we embraced, my first and last passionate prayer 
went up to God to save him, and let me alone bear the punish- 
ment. 

The vivid light had hardly been succeeded by darkness which 
might be felt, when the mountains answered it in a prolonged 
roar which almost deafened us, for Rigi and Frohnalp and Uri 
Rothstock were lifting up their deep-toned voices in a hoarse 
appeal to God. 

The waves ran so high now, and our frail boat w^as rocked so 
violently in the awful cradle of the deep, that we could hardly 
keep our seats at all, and the oars fell from my hands. Mop- 
pert was praying alone as we knelt down together with clasped 
hands. I could not pray. My mind was full of strange thoughts 
— yet not strange, perhaps, there, upon the threshold of eternity. 

For I thought how short my life had been, and how sinfully 
wasted, and of how little value was my million of inheritance at 
this supreme moment — an inheritance which would not buy 
even one short day wherein to repent. 

Thought how little worth was anything that men deem valu- 
able — worldly honor, worldly riches, name and fame. Thought 
of that treasure in heaven, which my nurse had told me was 
the only thing of any importance for human beings, who must 
die. 

Thought of that dear nurse herself, with her soft, rippling 
hair, and gentle face, and strong hands, forcing me to be good. 
Thought of her one burst of passion, and her penitence, and of 


THROUGH LQVE TO LIFE. 


63 


the cruel thing that weaned a brother from a sister, and must 
answer that. 

Thought of my long-forgotten nursery high up among the 
chimney-pots, with its one print of sick Lazarus at the rich man’s 
gate. Thought of a girl’s saucy face and sobbing longing to be 
good, and of a French chanson and its gay refrain. 

Thought of my neglected sisters, and of my father in Bally- 
acora Hall, and of what they would say when the news of my 
death reached them. And of the duke’s daughter, to whom I 
should never be married after all. 

Thought of my noble friends and of the life to which they 
had introduced me, and of a certain billet doux in my dressing- 
case with a burning cheek yet. Thought of certain floggings 
at Eton, and of the pattern of the paper in my room at home, 
and of the dinner I had ordered at the hotel and which would 
never be eaten, and of Aileen’s moist kisses on my cheek. 

Thought of Patsy, my groom, and of the licking I had given 
him, and whether he would remember or whether he would for- 
get. Thought of a thousand things as ridiculous as these, until 
I laughed aloud, with my hand still in Moppert’s and our boat 
still rocking in that awful cradle of the deep. 

Thought of the beautiful lady on the promenade at Lucerne, 
and of the devil beside her, until, looking up, I saw them both 
— I swear it — the tears yet undried upon her cheeks, his lips 
white with passion, hers with terror. 

Then I cried out to Moppert, for this last was more than I 
could endure. 

As I cried, something struck us a terrible blow. Our boat 
rose right up in the water, and then fell back again, casting us 
into the seething abyss. I lost my hold of Moppert in a fierce 
struggle to retain something I was losing — I hardly knew what. 
Then the struggle ceased, and I fell into a deep sleep. And oh, 
what perfect rest, what peace, wondrous and inexpressible, came 
to me with death ! 


64 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

A NEW TH^RESE. 

“ Ach ! SO grenzt des Geistes hdh’res Leben 
Oft an Tod, und ohne Wiederkehr 
Sinkt, wenn wir am bessern Daseyn schweben, 

Psyche tief hinab ins Sinnenmeer ! 

Selig, wem des Herzens Flammentriebe 
Friih sich lantern zu der reineren Liebe !” 

K. W. JusTi. 

What a dream I had had, to be sure! Not of her either; 
all about the nearly forgotten Thfgrese and that foolish French 
chanson of hers. The refrain was in my ears when I awoke ; 
soft and slow, as if being still sung in the years that were gone. 

“ Tra, la, la 1” Where was I, pray ? Where had I been last ? 

Memory, although shaky and confused, appeared in answer 
to the summons. Where had I been last ? Why, at the bottom 
of Lucerne, dead as a stone ! 

True ; then where was I now ? In heaven or in — the other 
place ? 

I listened. There were sounds falling on my ear besides the 
distant sound of song — harsh, unmelodious, guttural sounds. 
Bass and shrill treble. A man’s voice and a woman’s. 

Do people remain men and women in heaven ? No, we have 
Biblical authority for asserting that they neither marry nor are 
given in marriage there, but are as the angels. This, then, was 
— the other place. 

Oh, how their hard hands hurt me ! how mercilessly they pulled 
me hither and thither ! how they mouthed and maltreated the 
noble language of the fatherland ! 

And now the distant song swelled, coming nearer and nearer, 
until at last it resolved itself into words : 

A la fit’ du hameau, 

Ah ! coram’ c’est beau ! 

Tout’s les filles' 

Vont, au son du violon, 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


65 


Su’ I’vert gazon 
Danser en roud : 

Tra, dera, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, 

N’faut pas danser comme 9a, 
la, la ; 

L’ Amour vous attend la. 

Then this was purgatory. 

No, it was heaven after all ! A new presence was bending 
over me. A new atmosphere, delicately perfumed — ugh ! tlm 
former had been smoke-sullied — saluted my nose. A glow was 
rising to my face in glad response to a warm ray of sunshine. 

I raised my heavy lids and dimly saw a rainbow face : two 
smiling eyes in which tears yet sparkled ; the whitest of pearly 
teeth gleaming between coral lips. 

“ Therese,” I said, “ is this heaven, and are you dead too ?” 

I say, I saidj but it was only my lips which moved, no sound 
was audible. 

“ See, Vaterli ; see, Fleurette ; he is moving, he is trying to 
speak ! He will not die !” cried an eager voice. Then arose a 
hubbub of sound, during which my mind wandered off again 
into a region where thought is not. A horror of great darkness 
fell upon me, in the midst of which I was only sensible of a 
struggle back to the light. 

It was a man’s voice which penetrated the shadows afresh and 
opened anew a window in my brain. He spoke the Swiss patois, 
but slowly and carefully, as if his tongue had not always been 
accustomed to the gutturals. 

“ The Herr Doctor was not at home, sayest thou ?” 

“ No, father, but I left word that he should come.” 

“ Thou went away crying and came back singing, Mddel. Thou 
art like thy dead mother, who died because she couldn’t sing 
any more.” 

“ Ah, that would kill me, too,” said the girl. 

“ I believe thee well. But see, the gentleman is opening his 
eyes again — a foolish Englishman, whom Providence has cared 
for beyond his deserts, doubtless.” 

“ He — he does not look foolish,” said the girl, charming open 
my heavy lids anew, as she bent over me and gently touched 
my face with her hand. 

“ You are better. You are safe,” she cried, with confidence. 
We hardly want the doctor now.” 

5 


66 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


To which I answered, slowly and painfully : 

“ Therese, why did you go away, and why have you come 
back to me ?” 

And I added, striving hard to be heard : 

“ And why do you speak this ugly language, instead of your 
own, which is so soft and musical ?” 

“ Er kennt mich ja /” she cried, amazed. “Yes, I am Therese ; 
how do you know it ?” 

“ He is wandering in his mind,” said the man, advancing 
nearer to me. Then he continued, in loud, emphatic English : 

“ I am an Englishman, sir. Me and some others pulled you 
out of the lake an hour or two ago. ’Twas a close shave, but it’s 
all right now.” 

Not all right. Anything but right. For, as surely as the 
other was Therese, so surely this was William. I tried to rise, 
but was so tightly bound that I could not. 

“ Am I alive ?” 

“ Ay, alive sure enough, and if not kicking yet, you will be 
soon, doubtless.” 

Kicking ! Had I any legs to kick with ? I was conscious of 
none. 

“ Give him a drop of cherry brandy,” said the man, turning 
to speak to some one behind him ; “ he’s going again. And, 
Therese, run and open the door, Mddel. I hear the doctor com- 
ing at last.” 

These were the last intelligible words I heard during many 
and many a day. 

For Feeling, angry at her long banishment, now came back 
with a rush, running fiercely through every tortured nerve, and 
leaving behind her a burning track of pain. 

The other senses fled while she racked me, or remained be- 
hind only to confound and mislead. 

At last Feeling, tired of her cruel work, paused to rest, and I 
fell into a deep sleep. 

It was evening when I awoke, roused from slumber by a dis- 
tant murmur of many voices, the flowing of water, and certain 
dull thuds which were incomprehensible. I listened until curi- 
osity overcame listlessness, and I opened my eyes to try if I 
could see. 

A dimly burning lamp, depending from a beam in the ceiling, 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


67 


gave light enough to show that I was lying on a narrow bed in 
a large, barely furnished room, and so closely smothered in 
blankets and loaded with coverlets that it was no wonder I could 
not move. An empty chair stood by my bedside, a huge w^ard- 
robe and huger stove completed the furniture. On the wooden, 
roughly carved walls hung some prints of impossible Virgins 
and irtipossible Infants. At the foot of my bed stood a woman, 
short and dumpy, low-browed and long-chinned, contemplating 
me with the dull stare of soulless curiosity. As my eyes met 
those of this woman, she opened her mouth wider than they, but 
uttered not a word. 

Between wardrobe and stove was a door slightly ajar, through 
which issued the sounds I have mentioned and also the fumes 
of unmistakable tobacco-smoke and the smell of lager bier. As I 
looked and pondered, this door opened further still, admitting 
the tall, slight figure of a maiden. 

Fleurette,” she said, softly, “ one has need of thee.” 

This maiden was dressed in a short blue petticoat and scarlet 
mieder (bodice), the latter tightly laced over as exquisite a bust 
as sculptor ever modelled. Her shoulders and dimpled arms 
were bare. Her shapely little feet hardly seemed to touch the 
ground they trod on, while her rich black hair, tied with a scar- 
let ribbon, fell in one broad plait far below her waist. 

Therese! Therese in Swiss costume ! I was certain of it. The 
same mobile face ; the same saucy poise of the head ; the same 
contradictory and ever-changing expression, for at first the brown 
eyes were laughing, while the lips remained sedate and grave ; 
and now the eyes swam in tears, and the lips were smiling. 

Therese. Why had she come back to me, now that another 
love had taken possession of my heart ? 

William too. William, looking over her shoulder with a grave, 
benevolent satisfaction, right into my face. I should hardly 
have shared this satisfaction but for the other love I spoke of. 
Now I did, and smiled my congratulations. 

“ How I hated you once, William,” I said, as a second mas- 
culine head — a young and handsome one — appeared in the door- 
way, and an impatient masculine voice summoned back Therese. 
The beer, the voice said, was hardly worth the drinking without 
the Mddel. 

“ But now,” I added, magnanimously, “ I congratulate you 


68 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


with all my heart.” And I tried to lift the heavy bedclothes 
and to put out my hand. 

“ Sir,” he said, amazed, “ I am William, doubtless, but I do 
not know you from Adam.” 

“ I used to pinch your calves,” I said, looking down at those 
members, now shrunk and lean. 

He looked down at them himself and then at me, and his 
amazement deepened. 

“ I’m all abroad yet,” he said ; “ I can’t make neither head 
nor tail of it.” 

“ Do you remember going away in a cab with Therese, and a 
little passionate boy looking on, full of rage and grief ?” 

“ Ah-h !” 

“ And a gloomy London house with fog outside often, and 
always fog within ?” 

“ Ah-h-h !” 

“ I am glad you married her, William. I am glad you seem 
so happy and comfortable. I am glad — ” 

But my magnanimity was checked by a sudden reflection. I 
looked again at William. Some seventeen years had passed 
since I last saw him, and their footsteps were plainly enough 
traced upon his bronzed face ; whereas Therese was younger, 
brighter, prettier than ever. 

“ She is not your wife, is she ?” I inquired, somewhat con- 
fusedly. 

“ My wife died sixteen year ago — sixteen year ago,” he re- 
peated, with a deep sigh. 

“ And this Therese ?” , 

“ This Therese ” — and now his hard face softened, and a radi- 
ant light came into his eyes — “ this one is my little Mddel — my 
T'dchterleiny 

It was my turn now to utter a long-drawn “ Ah !” 

“ I reckon I know you now,” he continued, “ and I thank God 
A’mighty once more that ’twas me as drew you out of the water, 
for she were fond of you.” 

He paused again, putting his hand to his furrowed brow as if 
the word had aroused a host of painful recollections ; then con- 
tinued, in a more cheerful voice : 

“ You was a Tartar in them days. Master Charles, sure enough. 
Such a little chap, too, to be so much in love I I’ve laughed 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


69 


about it many a time with her, until we both laughed no longer, 
because — ” 

He broke off anew to put one arm around his daughter’s waist 
and lift the other to her round cheek as she came up to his side. 
How oddly the action affected me as they stood thus a moment 
together — the new William and the old Tberese! 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MY LITTLE MISTRESS. 

“ Cari sunt liberi, propinqui, familiares : sed omnes omnium caritates patria 
una coraplexa est.” — Cicero, De Officiis. 

We became very good friends in due time, this Therese and 
I. For it was she who nursed me, aideii by William, until I could 
stand upon my own shaky legs again. 

I wonder if there is any connection for the time, except that 
of husband and wife, more close and intimate than the connec- 
tion of patient and nurse ? I wonder if there is any more dan- 
gerous, when both are young ? 

Not that there was any danger for us — not the remotest. I 
had made her my confidante. I had enlisted her warm sympa- 
thies on behalf of the beautiful, unfortunate lady whom I loved. 

Whom I loved. Is love necessarily the growth of months? 
Can it not spring up, like Jonah’s gourd, in a night ? 

It did not in the least interfere with my liking for my pretty 
nurse. I liked well, I confess it, to see her by my bedside. I 
liked her tyranny. I liked our daily quarrels, specially when 
they were over. Above all, I liked — couldn’t have done without 
— the makings-up. 

I had found out the meaning of the mysterious thuds, and 
why tobacco smoke and lager bier perpetually perfumed the 
place. William was owner and landlord of a small public-house 
\Schenke)^ a favorite resort for men of all ages. Therese was 
its pretty, feminine attraction. 

It was morning. The sunshine was streaming in, warm and 
bright, through the diamond - shaped window-panes, tinging 
Therese’s black hair with a golden glitter and making the knit- 
ting-needles in her busy hand twinkle like fireflies as they flashed 
hither and thither in the light. 


70 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


A question whicli had haunted me for long — ever since I could 
think at all of other than my pain — hovered on my lips, but, like 
a coward, lacked courage to go further. 

“ Therese,” I said, breaking the silence in order to brace my- 
self, “ to-day I really feel as if I were going to get better.” 

“A7, naturlich,'’’ she answered, laughing, “ w'e never meant to 
let you die, monsieur.” 

I watched the gray stocking lengthening in her hands, resolv- 
ing to speak at every turn. Thrice I even uttered an inarticu- 
late sound ; thrice Therese’s bright eyes were turned towards 
me, and her rosy lips opened to an Eh^ monsieur V'' thrice I 
cleared my throat, and made believe that that was all I wanted. 

“ If you will be good, monsieur,” said Therese, after consult- 
ing my watch and forcing me to swallow two tablespoonfuls of 
a disgusting mixture — enjoying my sufferings, the minx, with all 
her heart — and w^on’t get excited, why, perhaps I’ll tell you 
something.” 

Perhaps, forsooth ! That was her way of tormenting me. 
Nevertheless, a touch of earnestness in her saucy voice made me 
turn pale and tremble. 

“A7 / ei ! if you are going to look like that, monsieur. I’ll run 
away and send old Fleurette to come and sit beside you. You 
will go off to sleep again like a lamb with Fleurette ; for ” — 
with an irresistible little grimace — “ it makes one sleepy only to 
look at her.” 

“ Wait till I am well, mein Fraulein, and see if I don’t pay 
you out then for your treatment of me now.” 

“ Treatment ! Der Herr hat gut sprechen. I should like to 
know who would have given him his drops so regularly, or mixed 
his mustard plasters so strong, or applied the leeches to his ach- 
ing temples, if I hadn’t been there !” 

^^Grausames Geschopf! It is to you, then, that I am indebted 
for the tortures inflicted upon me ! Never mind, I promise not 
to forget it.” 

“ No fear of that,” said Therese, tossing her pretty head and 
threatening me with a sharp-pointed knitting-needle. 

Herren Englander are known all the world over for their pro- 
found memory for injuries, and the extreme shortness of their 
memories for benefits they have received. Even my father, who 
has lived long enough with warmer-hearted folk to know better. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Y1 


never remembers my good deeds when be is angry ; but only 
the one little act, hardly worth noticing, which has aroused his 
ire.” 

“ It’s easy to say that, but you forget, mam’selle, that you are 
half English yourself.” 

No, monsieur, not a quarter English, thank Heaven ! All my 
heart belongs to Switzerland, and if I had to live anywhere else 
I should pine away and die. My father tried when I was little 
to instil English dulness into me, and tries, now that I am big, to 
scold me into being as hard and stiff and kalthlutig as his coun- 
trywomen. I have seen many of them in Lucerne, and you 
would think (for they are as cold and hard-looking as the Glet- 
scher upon our mountains) that they had never learned to laugh 
or cry or Sing or dance.” 

She was at a stumbling-block in her stocking just now, and 
bent her dark head over it for a moment without speaking. 

“HcA ! only a slipped stitch, monsieur, which reminds me that 
I have been told not to talk to you, and not to let you talk too 
much either.” 

“ maiden ! Go on.” 

“ Monsieur thinks he has but to command and that of course 
Thereschen must obey. But Therese doesn’t like to obey ; she 
likes to have some one to tease and torment all the livelong day. 
Ah, monsieur need not make such big eyes. I am as hard- 
hearted as a stone.” 

“ Wait till I am well again.” 

“ Besides,” she went on, “ what pleasure can it be to a warm- 
blooded Swiss girl to talk to a cold-blooded Englander, or to try 
and make him understand what love of country means, nor with 
what joy and pride we Swiss look up to our noble mountains, 
knowing that there is nothing else half so beautiful on earth ?” 

“ What an impassioned little patriot it is !” 

“ How you Englishmen must hate your England, monsieur, to 
run away from it as you do, as if there was pestilence in the 
very wind which blows over it. Hu! I have heard of it — a 
dark, gray country, where there is neither summer nor winter ; 
only fog and mist and smoke. France is better than that, though 
not half so good as Switzerland. Wouldn’t monsieur give half 
of his fortune, now, to have been born in this wonderful coun- 
try of ours ?” 


72 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ England is a more wonderful country still, Therese.” 

“ Oh, I will not talk to monsieur any more. I will sing a 
French chanson, as gay as the song of the skylark ; all about 
love and laughter, where the woods dance to the measure. 
Monsieur would make me else, in the twinkling of an eye, as 
dull and dismal as he is himself. I had nearly lost my temper. 
I will go look for it, and find it again in a song.” 

How wonderfully pretty the girl looked, as she broke out in 
a gleeful melody, her dark eyes flashing, her cheeks bright with 
unwonted color (she had inherited her mother’s Southern clear 
sallowness), and the sunshine playing hide-and-seek in her raven 
hair ! Now in words, now in song, how continuously and unin- 
terruptedly the sparkling stream flowed from between her scar- 
let lips ! I forgot everything again but lazy pleasure and con- 
tent as I lay watching her. 

“ It is strange,” she continued, after a short pause — while I 
observed, and wondered at it, that when she was silent her hands 
ceased to work too, and when the stream of talk bubbled out 
most irrepressibly her fingers played a quick accompaniment — 
“ it is strange, though, that my father will talk of ‘ Old England ’ ” 
— these last two words were brought out with the prettiest for- 
eign accent imaginable — “ as if he loved it, and my grandmother 
wmre out her old heart in pining for la belle France ! Monsieur, 
why do you sigh? You are disobeying me and getting excited.” 

“ You have not told me yet what you said you would.” 

“ Because you are not good. Your cheek is flushed ; perhaps 
a leech — ” 

“ I am not going to stand it. If you venture to bring one of 
the horrible creatures into the room — ” 

“ Monsieur, there is a bottle of them in the cupboard.” 

“Then I desire that they be instantly thrown into the lake.” 

“ Thrown into the lake ! Why, it would be as much as my 
life is worth to attempt it. I know I should be thrown in after 
them. But, perhaps, that, too, is what monsieur desires.” 

“ I desire that you will sit down beside me again and tell me 
instantly the news you promised.” 

“ 0 Weh ! 0 Weh ! I never thought to find the tales I have 
heard of English ingratitude so speedily verified. Yesterday, 
and all the days before, it was, ‘ Liebe Therese, bitte, bitte,' or 
‘ Thereschen, du bist mein rettender Engel,' or '•Kind, ich werde 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Y3 

nie vergessen was du mir gethan^ and to-day, nothing but desires 
and commands and threats. Oh, die Herren Englander are all 
the same, every one of them ! I will go and cook the Sujp'pe 
and send Fleurette, who is as deaf as a post, to come and sit be- 
side you.” 

“ Send Fleurette at your peril,” I rejoined, seizing the per- 
verse little hand and pressing it to my lips. “ And now that I 
have you fast, tell me the news this moment.” 

What a strange girl she was ! her mood as variable as the zig- 
zag flight of the swallow. She had been scolding me before 
with a contradictory sparkle in her eye ; now it flashed out a 
lightning ray, and her lip quivered. She rose up from her seat 
by my bedside as haughtily as an oifended princess. 

“ What is the matter, Therese ?” 

“ Monsieur is not in England,” she answered, turning away 
her flushing cheek, “ and will have to learn that his commands 
are not law in Switzerland. Sit down again? Certainly not, 
until monsieur has learned to control himself a little, and to be- 
have like a gentleman.” 

“ Good heavens ! what have I done ?” 

“ Done ! Is monsieur lord of Europe that he ventures to as- 
sume a tone so arrogant — -to command where he should obey ?” 

“ Well,” I said, falling back upon my pillow, “ the man who 
marries you will have his hands full ?” 

“ And the woman who marries you, monsieur, had need be 
born without a heart at all.” 

“ I’ve nothing further to say, Therese.” 

“ Nor have I. Except — except that I was told not to excite 
you ; and your cheek is flushed, and your eye bright, and your 
breathing hurried and unequal. Let me give you your medicine, 
monsieur, and let us quarrel when you are better.” 

She was looking at me now with a softened and a troubled 
eye, and the hand with which she smoothed my pillow trembled 
a little. I was quick to seize my advantage, and cunning enough 
to try a new form of inducement. 

“Thereschen, you can make some allowance for a sick man, 
cannot you? I am afraid of the news you have promised me, 
but I am still more afraid of the uncertainty. It is that which 
is agitating me. Be good to me, Therese. Do tell me.” 

“ There,” she said, smiling, yet pricked to the quick by my 


74 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


tone of supplication, “ you have given me tit for tat with a ven- 
geance, monsieur. I am as submissive to your do as I was im- 
pervious to your must. But get agitated at your -peril ! The 
moment you begin, I am gone.” 

How could I help getting agitated ? My heart began to beat 
quick and fast ; my eyes grew dim. Yet surely she had no bad 
news to communicate. Surely no one could contemplate the 
terrible solemnity of death with those laughing eyes and that 
dimpling cheek. 

“You will let me take up the heel of my stocking first, will 
you not, monsieur?” she said, “and then I can talk on without 
interruption.” 

But this was a little too strong a strain on my endurance. I 
broke down under it, and cried out petulantly : “If you only 
knew, Therese, what I have suffered, how terribly I have been 
racked by alternate hope and fear, you would not have the 
heart — ” Here my new weapon fell so heavily on her that she 
winced and paled under it, for my voice was choked with a sob, 
and the tears were rising. 

She had thrown down her knitting instantly, and now knelt 
by my bedside in the completeness of her penitence ; her bare, 
dimpled elbows on the counterpane, her sweet, remorseful face 
supported by a pair of shapely hands — hands more accustomed 
to cuff than to caress, but oh ! so thrilling in their contact when 
they did ! — her dark eyes meeting mine full of a sweet, mother- 
ly relenting, as if they would plead, “ My teasing was all love 
upside-down,” while her voice, when she spoke, was as soft as 
that of any cooing dove. 

“ You will break my heart if you look at me like that, mon- 
sieur ; you must know that I would not really hurt you for the 
world. Have 1 been so very cruel to you ? If it had been news 
of the fair lady, I wouldn’t have kept it from you for an instant, 
for I can guess how eager you would have been for it — but 
a little old man, kaum grosser als ich, how could I imagine that 
your heart was so set on him ? — one of a nation, too, who are 
the sworn enemies of your England.” 

I could not speak. So he had been saved, too, by a miracle ! 

Ruhig ! ruhig ! monsieur. You have no need to he afraid. 
Did you think so badly of Therese as to believe she could tease 
you about so solemn and sad a thing as that you feared? He 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


16 

is to come again this afternoon to see you, if the doctor finds 
you are none the worse for the intelligence. That was why I 
took so many precautions in telling you. And I would ask you 
to forgive me, only that I am still a little angry that you could 
think so badly of me.” 

She looked at me, smiling, but I could not smile yet. I was 
vehemently struggling with tears, and getting worsted by them. 
Remember, in my excuse, how weak I was. 

“ He has seen you once before, monsieur,” continued Th6rese, 
still upon her knees. “ I led him to the door between this and 
the Schenkstuhe, and let him look in upon you as you slept, and 
he cried — the little man — lieher Gott ! as you are crying now.” 

Then she broke down herself, and we cried together as heartily 
and noisily as two children. And (how it happened, I do not 
know) my hot head was on her bosom, and our lips so close, so 
close^ that at last they touched involuntarily, separating again 
with a sound which startled us into quietude. 

The next moment she was gone, and I alone, to wonder what 
we had done, and what was the meaning of it, and why forbid- 
den fruit is always the sweetest. 

But when she came, half an hour afterwards, to administer 
the Suppe cooked by Fleurette, there was no sign of shame on 
her pale oval cheek, or of embarrassment in her laughing eye. 
She was the old Therese again ; in a dozen moods at once ; per- 
emptory, supplicating ; haughty, humble ; sweet as honey and 
bitter as quinine ; sharp and gentle in a breath ; irresistible, in 
short, to any man whose heart was not preoccupied as mine was. 

But the kiss was forgotten, or ignored completely. Made- 
moiselle was full of her function, and harnessed with its authority 
to the unflinching finger-tips. She approached my bed with a 
resolute air, and stationed herself beside it with the rigidity and 
determination of a sentinel on duty. 

“ Open your mouth, monsieur.” The tone of her voice was 
pregnant with an authority which seemed to challenge opposi- 
tion. 

I accepted the challenge instantly, and threw down a ready 
gauntlet. Next to kissing Therese, nothing was pleasanter than 
quarrelling with her. At least, at the moment I thought so. 

“ What for, mein Frdulein 

“Asks ‘What for?’ when I am standing with the spoon in 


76 


THROUGH LOVH TO LIFE. 


one hand and the steaming basin in the other ! But men are as 
blind as moles, especially Englishmen.” 

“ And chits, pretending to be women, are as perverse as young 
fillies till they are tamed by bit and bridle — especially cosmo- 
polites, half Swiss, half English, and half French.” 

“ Three halves in a whole — is that an English problem, mon- 
sieur ? Even our village Lehrer taught me better than that. 
And, talking of bits and bridles, there is such a thing as a good 
Swiss Ruthe," 

“ Certainly, mein Frdulein. I hardly liked to suggest it ; but 
if you are sensible that your iniquities rise to that alternative — ” 

“You asked me ‘What for?’ just now, monsieur, but I will 
tell you what not for. Not to talk certainly, and not to — ” Here 
she stopped, blushing : a singularly infectious blush, for my 
cheek instantly reflected it, and our eyes fell simultaneously. 
Therese was the first to recover her lost self-possession. In 
some things women are a thousand times cleverer than men. 

“ Do you think the newly hatched nestlings ask ‘ What for ?’ 
when the parent birds bring the worm ?” said Therese, in a tone 
of sharp reprimand. “ Open your mouth this moment, or—” 

In defiance of the threatening I only opened it to 

speak again : 

“ But I am not hungry, and am not a newly hatched nestling, 
and if anybody offered me a worm — ” 

“ No credit to you,” interrupted Therese, suddenly putting 
down her basin, and shifting her spoon in a manner which made 
me remember with some alarm my old nurse, and the way in 
which she would sometimes, after long waiting, administer medi- 
cine ; “ you might have been, you know.” 

This logic being unanswerable, as woman’s logic always is, I 
was dumb. Moreover, the power of speech was momentarily 
taken from me : my nurse’s manner of coercion was not, I found, 
peculiar to any nation, but the common property of all ; the 
spoon was in my mouth, and it was a case of swallowing or 
choking. So I submitted in somewhat shamefaced silence, and 
the Suppe being remarkably good, and my appetite only emo- 
tionally in abeyance and now coming fresh to the fore, I resented 
the finale almost as much as I had resented the brusque com- 
mencement. 

“ Is that all ?” I inquired, as the spoon ceased to travel from 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE, 


11 

the basin to my mouth, and Therese’s busy hands were arrang- 
ing the pillows at my head. 

“ That is all, monsieur.” 

“ But I have not had half enough.” 

“ Can’t help it, monsieur ; you will not get any more.” 

“ One might think I was a baby.” 

“ One might really often think so,” said Therese, with ready 
acquiescence. 

I was too sleepy to be angry. So I looked up into the bright 
face of my Mutterchen^ and she looked down on me, firm, though 
smiling. • 

“ Little tyrant !” I murmured. 

“ Tyrant indeed !” And I saw the pretty head toss just as my 
eyes were closing. “ But what could you expect from an Eng- 
lander ? And now, monsieur, you are to go to sleep this minute.” 

I am not sure whether I only thought or spoke the next words, 
to the effect that nothing should induce me. I only know that 
I did go to sleep, perhaps because I knew that Therese was not 
to be disobeyed with impunity, and slept as sweetly and peace- 
fully as if I had been in truth the baby Therese loved to make 
of me. And I dreamed I was a doll, and that the Mddel was 
my little mistress ; that sometimes she beat and sometimes ca- 
ressed me, always holding me though — so that chastisement and 
reward were as like as two peas, and hardly distinguishable — 
very close to her heart. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THERESE. 

“ Wouldst be loved by all the world, 

Maiden, sweet as May in bloom. 

Leave thy rosy lip uncurled. 

Rest contented with thy doom. 

“ Know that, Envy hateth most 
What is lovely, sweet, and fair ; 

Know it is thy virtues’ host 
That she cannot, cannot bear.” 

I SLEPT well after hearing the good news from Therese, and 
when the morning sun streamed in again through the diamond- 


78 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


shaped panes, Moppert was allowed to come into my room. My 
eyes were too dim to see him for a moment, but when they 
cleared we clasped hands and gazed into each other’s faces as 
friends might do, meeting in Eternity. 

Then he sat down beside me, with a warning finger on his lip, 
and a look of such sincere affection in his eyes that my own filled 
again. 

“ Ah, dear friend,” he said, “ I have offered up a thousand 
prayers to Our Lady on your behalf, and that they have been 
answered seems to me a blessed omen for the future.” 

I noticed with pain that he was replacing his right arm in a 
sling from which he had removed it during our hand-shake. 

“ Nothing of consequence,” he explained ; “ only a sprain, 
which is all but healed again.” 

“ How did it happen ?” 

'‘'‘Mon ami, I will tell you everything in time, but to-day I 
have been severely restricted as to the topic of our discourse, 
and it seems to me that mademoiselle is a little person who ex- 
pects to be obeyed. 

I laughed and nodded, very emphatically. 

“ Ah, monsieur, you have had a hard time of it, no doubt, 
with this little brunette ? She has ruled you with a rod of iron ?” 

“ Not with one, monsieur, but with ten.” 

“ Pummelled you sore, eh ?” 

“ Monsieur, I am one wound from head to foot.” 

“ La coquine ! And has she inflicted more than flesh-wounds, 
monsieur ? Has she tried her hand upon your heart ?” 

“ Monsieur, I cannot tell what she might have done ; she is 
capable of anything, but I have no heart left to wound.” 

“ Did you leave it behind you in the lake for the water nixies?” 

“ You know better than that, monsieur ; you know where it is.” 

“The cold water has not quenched your ardor, then? You 
still think of the other ?’’ 

“ Oh, monsieur, if you only knew how often and how much !” 

“ Mon ami, your cheek is flushing and your eye brightening. 
It is good. I am content to see it. But you must not let Made- 
moiselle Therese misunderstand you ; her giddy head might get 
some absurd idea into it, which would grieve you, would it not?” 

He looked keenly at me as he put the question. I answered, 
impetuously : 


THROUGH LOVR TO LIFE. 


79 


“ Monsieur, it would grieve me so much that, if I feared any- 
thing of the sort, I would ask you to help me don my coat and 
pantaloons, and lend me a helping hand to run away.” 

“ There is no danger, then ?” 

“ I am very fond of Therese, monsieur, and I think she likes 
me, too, a little, though she is so hard with me.” 

“ Humph !” 

I went on recklessly, an irresistible impulse driving me to 
confess. 

“ We quarrel, but we make it up again, and yesterday we sol- 
emnized our reconciliation with a kiss. 

“ What ! You have dared to embrace her !” 

“ Yes, monsieur. AVe are capital friends, Therese and I. I 
like her as well as if she were my sister. And she has a pretty 
mouth ; don’t you think so ?” 

“ Man without a conscience ; here is your coat, here are your 
pantaloons ; put them on this minute.” 

“ Monsieur, I would rather be excused. On the whole, I feel 
too weak to move yet. This bed is not of down, yet my limbs 
have ceased to ache, and now it seems easy. And if my pretty 
nurse teases me, why, I can pay her out in kisses.” 

“ And be paid out by her father in coin less sweet, but much 
more wholesome. Well, I had hopes of you.” 

Cherish them still, monsieur, for I have great hopes of my- 
self. I have left my ennui behind me in the lake. There is 
work for me to do. The first work, with God’s help, to save her.” 

“ Which her ?” inquired Moppert, a doubtful sparkle in his eye. 

“ Was there never a time, monsieur, when for you, as for me, 
the feminine pronoun meant only one person — meant all the 
world, in short ?” 

“ Ah, the poor Therese !” 

“ Do you think I would have kissed her, or she me, if we had 
not both known — ” 

“ If you had both known that a horsewhipping was in store 
for you, it would have been a wholesome reminder ; and, as for 
me, I would not lift a finger to prevent it.” 

“Yes, you would, monsieur, for my pulse never throbbed a 
throb quicker when our lips met.” 

“ But hers, hers, hers ?” 

“ Here she comes to answer for herself.” 


80 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


The door was opening as I spoke, and Therese’s laughing eyes 
met mine inquiringly. 

“ Therese, come and take my part. This friend of mine has 
been doing nothing but scold me.” 

“ Been scolding you, has he ? Well, I have no doubt you de- 
serve it. But, if scolding won’t do, we must try punishment. 
He has been getting excited, is it not so, monsieur? There- 
fore you will have the kindness to wish him good-bye.” 

“Excited? My blood is flowing as icily as your own, made- 
moiselle. When you hear what he has been saying, you will 
want to punish him instead of me.” 

Moppert made a horrified gesture at my temerity. But I 
thought I knew what I was doing. 

“ What do you think he’s afraid of ?” I said, laughing. 

“ Of your taking cold and of my being angry,” she answered, 
peremptorily replacing my head upon the pillow from which I * 
had raised it. “ Who gave you leave to sit up, monsieur ?” 

“ Leave ? Can’t I please myself ?” 

“ Certainly not,” answered Therese, laying one cool hand 
upon my brow, and feeling my pulse with the other. 

It was delightful. I hardly like to say how delightful, it 
seems so inconsistent. 

“ Am I not my own master ?” I continued, pretending to rebel 
in order to prolong the punishment. 

She did not deign to answer ; only ran her slender fingers 
through my hair, and stooped low to listen to my breathing. 
Her pretty mouth, temptingly rounded, almost touched mine. 

Yet 1 felt sure, quite, quite sure, that her love for me was en- 
tirely motherly. 

“ Perhaps he was afraid of that,” repeated Therese, “ and 
with excellent reason, too, for you are feverish and I am angry.” 

“ No, mademoiselle, it wasn’t that at all,” I went on, laugh- 
ing ; “ he was afraid of your falling in love with me ; but, now 
that he sees how you behave to me, I think his fears will vanish.” 

For a moment after I had made this foolish, foolish speech, 
there was a dead silence. Angry color flushed Therese’s cheek 
a deep crimson, her restless hands half clenched themselves, and 
her dark eyes flashed. Then she turned and walked to the door 
between us and the Schenkstubey standing there a moment before 
fuming back to us. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


81 


The color had faded from her cheek again, leaving it paler 
than usual, and her mouth, in the corners of which a smile al- 
ways seemed to lurk, was sternly set — sternly and yet so sor- 
rowfully that I wished I had bitten off my tongue before let- 
ting it wag so foolishly. 

She seated herself on a chair by my bedside, first chastising 
me with a look which made me tingle from head to foot with 
shame, then turned her beautiful eyes, dark, clear, and unwont- 
edly earnest, on Moppert, to whom she spoke. He had been 
looking at her with undisguised admiration, at me with undis- 
guised reproof. 

“ Monsieur,” she began, somewhat irrelevantly, as I thought, 
“ you have been now nearly a fortnight in Brunnen, and have, 
no doubt, often heard people speak of Therese, the Schenkmad- 
chen 

“ Mademoiselle, I have heard you spoken of more than any 
one else in Brunnen.” 

“ Monsieur, your hair is gray — an old man surely would not 
deceive a girl who trusted in him — and your eyes are grave and 
clear and steady. I believe in eyes. I believe that I may trust you.” 

“ Mademoiselle, if my eyes are a true index to my heart, you 
may trust them implicitly, for that would scorn to deceive you.” 

“ Tell me, then, tell me truly, what you have heard about 
Therese.” 

“ Mademoiselle, I have heard much that is good. I have heard 
that you are very beautiful, and I see that it is true — the most 
beautiful girl in all the four cantons.” 

Was she beautiful? I had hardly thought about it before. 
I only knew that she was pleasant. But now, looking at her 
with newly awakened eyes, I saw that it was true. Not only 
the most beautiful girl in the four cantons, but also, save one, 
the most beautiful woman in the world. Well for me that I 
had been in love before I saw her. For even to my chastened 
pride the thought of marrying a Schenkmadchen was preposterous. 

Yet how gracefully, and now how haughtily, her small head 
sat upon her shapely neck ! How smooth and dimpled were 
her shoulders ! How white the full plumpness of her arms ! 
How exquisitely curled the scarlet lips, scornful as those of any 
titled dame ! Where, in the name of all the blue blood in the 
universe, did the ex-footman’s daughter learn to look like that ? 

6 


82 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Go on, monsieur. Do they say that I am sweet-tempered ? 
Do they say — ” Here she broke down with a smothered cry 
of angry and indignant pain. 

“ No, mademoiselle, but they say that your voice is sweeter 
than that of the far-famed Loreley, and that you lure men to 
destruction.” 

“ What more ?” 

“ Let me stop, mademoiselle. It is not true, I am sure.” 

“ Monsieur, you have promised me.” 

“ That then you change your note, and laugh at the hearts 
you have broken.” 

“ They say that, do they ? Go on.” 

“ Mademoiselle, let me stop, I beseech you. Your bodice is 
rising and falling stormily ; on your cheek one spot begins to 
glow like a coal of fire ; your smooth forehead is contracting ; 
your slipper restless.” 

“ Monsieur, I am not going to fiy into a passion. I can con- 
trol myself, and I will.” 

“ Mademoiselle, if you command me to proceed I have no 
choice but to obey. They say further — Mademoiselle, let it 
be enough^ what does it matter?” 

“ I will hear it.” 

“ Mademoiselle, you are cruel to me as well as to yourself. 
You do not know what you are asking.” 

“ But I will hear it.” 

“ They say that you are only nursing the Englishman to break 
his heart, too ; that there is witchery in your charms, and that no 
man can withstand you. They say that you have no heart to 
love any one, and that he had better have been drowned in the 
lake than ever come near you. They have sent me to take him 
away.” 

The long-kept-back tears were coming at last. I saw them fall- 
ing one by one. I saw the girl’s struggle to keep back the sobs 
shaking her. And I had to remember that this was all my doing 

“ So you have come to take him away,” she said at last, with 
as much bitterness as she could infuse into the sweet tones of 
her voice. 

“ I won’t be taken away, Therese — not if he brings every one 
in Brunnen to help him.” 

She smiled at me through her tears, even in the midst of her 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


83 


agitation carefully putting back the hand I stretched out under 
the coverlet again. 

“ Oh, monsieur, monsieur,” she cried, laughing, now almost 
her old bright self once more, “ you come too late. The mis- 
chief is done already. He will not go, even though I bid him.” 

“ I shall never get well without the tonic of your tyranny,” I 
cried. 

“You hear, monsieur. Is it not dreadful? Don’t you wish 
he had been left at the bottom of the lake ?” 

“ No, mademoiselle.” 

“ Don’t you wish he had never seen Therese ?” 

“ No, mademoiselle ; I esteem him fortunate, and myself too, 
for having had that pleasure.” 

“ Ah, perhaps you are falling a victim yourself !” 

“Yes, mademoiselle, I have been falling a victim ever since I 
saw you.” 

“You frighten me, monsieur. I did not know I was so dan- 
gerous, nor that I could break hearts so easily.” 

“ Mademoiselle, necks have been broken in scaling your moun- 
tains, but that is not the fault of the glacier.” 

“ Bah ! Would you compare me to anything so icy as that. 
You think then, like my kind neighbors, that I have no heart at 
all.” 

“ I think, mademoiselle, that a heart capable of profoundest 
affection beats beneath your mieder — a heart that loving once 
would love forever, but that as yet it is untouched.” 

As she put her hands upon his shoulders in the pretty way in 
which she was wont to plead with her father, I saw her face 
change its expression from that of a playful child to that of an 
impassioned woman. Her pale cheek glowed again, her lips 
parted, her voice was agitated, as if an unskilful hand had 
touched some exquisite instrument which could not yet yield 
full harmony. 

“ Will it ever be touched ?” she said, her voice vibrating, 
while she looked up into the old man’s face as if he had been 
a prophet ; “ will it ever be touched, monsieur ?” 

But before he could answer she was laughing again gayly, 
promising me no end of penalties for having been the cause of so 
much disquietude, and laughed still as she playfully pushed Mop- 
pert out of my room into the glowing sunshine of the midday. 


84 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A SOLEMN VOW. 

“ 0 mon pere,” lui dis-je, “ je ne savais pas que la direction d’intention eftt 
la force de rendre les promesses utiles.” “ Vous voyez,” dit le pfere, “ que voila 
une grande facility pour le commerce du monde.” 

Pascal {Leltres Provincicdes). 

My progress towards complete recovery was very rapid after 
my interview with Moppert. Soon I was allowed to sit up ; 
soon even able to take a few steps out into the sweet autumn 
air ; very soon able to coerce Therese, as I triumphantly assert- 
ed, instead of her coercing me. 

But before this happy termination to our disaster had been 
attained, nearly a month had elapsed, during which our worst 
fears for the beautiful lady might have been realized. And 
though I could not deny even to myself that her image in my 
mind had become somewhat misty, I struggled against the con- 
viction with fierce contempt for my instability. Was it not to 
her that I owed the rousing of soul and body out of a lethargy 
which was ruining me ? I hated myself for my enforced inac- 
tion, and every minute of delay seemed an age. 

In the meantime Moppert had not been idle. He had been 
to Lucerne before he saw me, and ascertained that the apart- 
ments occupied by Monsieur le Prince de Pobeldowski and his 
suite had been taken until the end of October, and that there- 
fore we still had some time before us. 

His inquiries concerning the lady herself had not produced 
any definite information. The bribed waiter, probably already 
bribed by some one else, was quite non-committal. He did not 
know where Mademoiselle came from ; she spoke several lan- 
guages equally well. He did not know whether the princess 
was kind to her — the prince was, and the prince was master. 
He did not know whether she had any friends or not — never 
heard of any. He did not kppw wjietber shp were happy — she 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


85 


cried a good bit, which was a queer way of showing it ; but 
then women were queer — could narrate a case in point from his 
own experience. 

Furthermore, the waiter pulled up rather short at this point ; 
did not know — very sulkily — anything more about her — had too 
much to do to busy himself with what others were doing. Be- 
sides, as a respectable young man engaged to a respectable 
young woman, she wasn’t the sort of person he cared to talk 
about. 

And this was all Moppert’s five francs had elicited. 

“ I wish I had been there to knock him down,” I cried, in- 
dignantly. 

“ But as you were not,” said Moppert, rather dryly, “ what is 
to be done next ?” 

My own feelings would have prompted me to say, raise the 
devil generally, but Moppert was still looking at me with his 
own dry, caustic smile, and I was silent. 

“ I’ll tell you what, mon ami^^ he said, after a thoughtful tug 
at his moustache, “ when I was quite nonplussed at Lucerne I 
used to go to Madame Papillote, and she always knew what to 
do. Women beat us out and out at intrigue. Let us take a 
woman into our confidence.” 

“ What woman ?” 

“ Who better than Mademoiselle Therese ?” 

I blushed a little. Was he thinking to kill two birds with 
one stone ? But he was right ; if any one could help us, it was 
she. 

Therese listened as Moppert narrated, with grave attention, 
her eyes downcast, even her busy fingers perfectly motionless. 
I think he was somewhat reassured by her apathy, by her evi- 
dent want of surprise. 

“ You did well,” she said at last, slowly, yet very composed- 
ly — “ you did well, monsieur, to come to Therese. People say 
that what I undertake I succeed in, and I am going to under- 
take to help you.” 

“ Therese,” I cried, enraptured, “ was there ever such a charm- 
ing girl as you are ? How shall I thank you ?” 

I stretched out my hand to grasp hers, but she did not seem to 
see it. I tried to catch her eye, but she appeared to have only 
vision for Moppert. 


86 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Therese, tell me what you want most in the world, and I 
will give it you, even if it cost me half what I possess.” 

With one of those sudden changes so characteristic of her, 
she now turned sharply towards me ; her face, nay, even her 
white shoulders and pearly ears, dyed a deep crimson. Her 
girlish figure shook with the violent effort she made to regain 
her lost self-control. It seemed as if the effort would choke 
her. 

“ What is the matter, Therese ? What have I done to vex 
you ?” 

She hurst into a peal of laughter — laughter so discordant that 
it horrified me — and ran, still laughing, out of the room. 

I looked at Moppert for an explanation ; hut he only said, 
sharply and laconically, as the door closed upon us : 

“ How soon will you he able to go ?” 

Adding, after a short interval, during which he fiercely tugged 
at his moustache : 

“ If ever you kiss that girl again I’ll give up the enterprise.” 

Could he have imagined — ? 

And I made a vow — a solemn one — never to kiss Therese 
again on any provocation whatsoever, and kept it — of course. 


CHAPTER XVH. 

IN THE SCHENKSTUBE. 

“ ‘ And now, good day ; I wish you pleasant dreams, 

And greater faith in woman.’ 

“ ‘ Greater faith ; I have the greatest faith ; 

For I believe Victorian is her lover.’” — Longfellow. 

In a few moments after that last angry remark from Moppert, 
William entered the room, bringing with him a stout Brunnen 
lad, who greeted me with a grin from ear to ear, and a gruff 
“ Gruss Gott^ Herre^ 

“ Gruss Gott^'^ I answered, regarding with interest this burly 
son of the soil. His figure was almost gigantic, and even his 
loose and ill-made clothes could not quite disguise limbs shaped 
like those of a young Hercules. His coarse linen shirt, bleached 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


87 


white as the snow upon his own mountains, hung loose over his 
chest, leaving his massive throat and hairy breast visible. His 
hands and feet were immense. He was a far finer specimen of 
the human animal than an average English peasant, and, so far 
as I have had an opportunity of judging, no exception, but a 
type of his class in German Switzerland. 

But, ascending from the throat to the head, where that in- 
tangible something, human intelligence, is supposed to have its 
seat, one would have given, without hesitation, the palm to the 
average Anglo-Saxon. The pale goggle blue eyes of the giant, 
innocent and pacific looking, seemed but a degree removed from 
those of a peaceful grazing ox, whose knowledge of the world’s 
laws goes no higher than that ploughing comes before grazing, 
labor before repose. 

Yet once I saw those dull orbs, on a never-to-be-forgotten’ oc- 
casion, all ablaze in the light of a divine fire, lit by God. 

Globularity was the prevailing impression which this gigantic 
Teuton made upon me. His face was round, his flat nose round, 
his mildly astonished eyes round. And as for his temper, as I 
found out afterwards, there wasn’t an angle in it. 

According to the law of contrariety which governs human 
actions, some one had bestowed the rather ferocious name of 
Nicholas upon this peaceful giant. He was known to his com- 
patriots as Peter’s Nick — Peter being his paternal ancestor. And, 
although so young, he had already a Nick of his own, who is 
doubtless now known by the cognomen of Old Nick’s Nick. 

“ Well, sir, how do you find yourself this evening ?” said 
William, kindly. “ Me and Nick’s been sent to carry you into 
the SchenJcstuhe. There’s goin’ to be some fun to-night. And 
she bade us look sharp about it, did the Mddel, and if we don’t 
she will. What did the Mddel say, Nick ?” 

“ To bring him whether he would or no,” answered Nick, 
nothing now but a stalwart figure capped by a mouth. 

“ And are we going to do it, Nick ?” 

“ Jh, yo, Herre'' 

If Therese had told Nick to throw me into the lake, he would 
have done it, I am sure. 

The next moment I was in the air, easy-chair and all, raised 
there by the sinewy arms of Nicholas, and a moment later I was 
in the Schenkstuhe. 


88 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Moppert, laughing heartily, followed me and my bearer. 

We were greeted by a simultaneous Gritss Oott! from about 
twenty to thirty men, from the bald-headed patriarch of the vil- 
lage to the lad, barely emancipated from the discipline of the 
maternal Ruthe. 

There were three windows in the room — lattice-windows with 
diamond-shaped panes. One of these was open, and through it 
I looked down upon the shimmering lake, now dyed deep crim- 
son by the glory of the sunset. 

Opposite me rose the mountains, and I thought, as I gazed, 
that heaven itself could not be more divinely beautiful. No ad- 
dition could improve the scene, and an item wanting would have 
been — at least to me — as disturbing as a feature failing on a 
lovely human face. 

Feeling a trifle embarrassed by the universal gaze — for I was 
an object of great interest to the “ lads ” — I occupied myself for 
a while solely with the beauty of the landscape, brightened into 
special glory by the brilliancy of the setting sun, which was 
framing the tops of the mountains opposite with a deep border 
of living and transparent gold. 

The two arms of the lake, one stretching towards Lucerne, 
the other towards Fliielen — the so-called Lake of TJri — lay as 
calm and unruffled before me as if they had never known what 
it was to be lashed by the Fohn. The water was of a vivid 
green, dark under the shadow of the mountains ; and the air so 
clear that I could see the crevices on the glacier of Uri Roth- 
stock, and even the point where ice melted into water. A few 
boats were crossing from the other side, wherein sat youths and 
maidens, the former wearing sprigs of edelweiss in their round 
hats, the latter gayly attired in the blue-and-scarlet mieder of the 
national costume. 

As I gazed, the sun sank lower, embracing the mountains with 
ever-increasing ardor as the moment drew near when he must 
go. I saw the snow-tops crimson under his kisses until they 
glowed like peaks of living fire. 

“ Is it not glorious, monsieur ?” said Therese, in a low voice, 
at my ear. “Don’t you think God must have a special love for 
Switzerland ?” 

I looked round with a sigh. Even her sweet voice broke the 
spell. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


89 


“ Monsieur, though I have seen it so often, I always feel it 
just as new and wonderful. I could fancy I saw the gates of 
heaven opening, and that in another moment we should look 
straight in on God.” 

The light was slowly fading now, and Therese stood quietly 
beside me until the mountains had recovered their usual proud 
purity — all the colder, it seemed, after their late outbreak of 
passion — and in the darkening sky stars began to twinkle. 
Then she closed the window ; ordering me, with that quick 
change of feeling so characteristic of her, not to sit apart, sul- 
len and morose, any longer, but to pay a little attention to my 
neighbors. 

In obedience to my little dictatress, I commenced conversa- 
tion with a stout Junge of fifty or thereabouts — who, I found, 
was regarding me with considerable curiosity — by remarking 
that it was a beautiful evening. 

“ If any one had told me,” he rejoined, much more to the point, 
“ a fortnight ago, Herre, that I should ever drink a pot in your 
company, Td have punched him for trying to make a fool of 
me — Michael Michaelis.” 

“ You thought I was lost?” 

“ Herre, when I saw you with these eyes — the eyes of Michael 
Michaelis — in your nut-shell of a boat upon the lake, and the 
Fohn signalled, if I’d thought about it at all — which I didn’t — 
I might have thought the lake would throw up your body to be 
buried decently in Brunnen churchyard, but not that I should 
ever drink a pot in your company.” 

Whije we talked, I watched the men quaffing their beer, and 
watched Therese as she flitted hither and thither, waiting on 
them ; her cheeks more warmly colored than usual ; her eyes 
sometimes smiling approbation, sometimes flashing reproof ; her 
abundant black hair braided into one long plait, falling far be- 
low her waist ; her trimly fltting scarlet bodice showing to per- 
fection the beauty of her flgure ; her short, full skirt allowing 
all admiring gazers to see the neat ankle and the pretty arched 
foot. 

And as I gazed, fllled with that restless discontent which at- 
tends the second stage of convalescence — when we begin to feel 
our weakness — I grew indignant and wrathful. 

At the other end of the room, opposite the windows, was a 


90 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


sort of bar, behind which stood Fleurette and Peter’s Nick. It 
was there that Therese and William took the empty pots to be 
refilled, and this business was carried on so rapidly for a time 
that Therese’s pretty feet hardly seemed to touch the floor as 
she ran from one to another. 

“ Zwie Hamburger, Fleurette.’’' 

“ Fin Nurnberger Schnitt for Michael Michaelis.” 

“ Therhchen, Herze. Have you got any double Bavarian ?” 

“ Not for you, Peter Kunze.” 

“ And why not for me, Mddel, if I’ve got the money to pay 
for it ?” 

Therese only looked at him. Every one else stopped drink- 
ing and looked too. 

Peter shuffled uneasily upon his seat, muttered that he was 
Herr in his own house, and wasn’t going to have the law laid 
down to him by other folks’ Mddel. But Therese stood steady, 
and I saw Peter’s Nick roll his shirt-sleeves a trifle higher and 
stand at attention. 

“ And there’s more than one Schenke and more than one pretty 
girl in Brunnen,” he added. 

Therese never moved, but Peter’s Nick gave his shirt-sleeves 
another roll, and drew a step nearer. 

“ Schdme dich, Peter Kunze /” 

The words were scarcely audible, and yet it seemed as if the 
breath to utter them had gone forth from every mouth present. 
Peter dashed down his pot and went away in a rage. 

“ Why wouldn’t she give it him ?” I said. 

“ Double Bavarian costs double price,” answered Michael Mi- 
chaelis, laconically, “ and Peter’s got a sick wife.” 

“ He will go elsewhere.” 

“ Ja wohl, he will go elsewhere.” 

“ And can the host afford to lose his customers like that ?” 

Michael looked at me with mild surprise in his mild eyes. 

“ He will come back to-morrow, Herre.” It doesn’t answer 
here in Brunnen to quarrel with Therese.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Ah, why not, Herre ? It would take more than is in me to 
answer that. She isn’t like any other Mddel, isn’t Therese.” 

“ I began to grow still more restless and discontented. It 
angered me to see those dimpled shoulders so close to the rough 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


91 


coats of tlie lads, to notice how smilingly she heard the endear- 
ing epithets by which she was continually addressed. It in- 
furiated me to see her exposed to the gaze of so many mascu- 
line eyes, and to feel that her. grace and loveliness were made 
use of for a marketable purpose. Could any girl, specially could 
Therese, with that inflammable French blood coursing through 
her delicate veins, remain unsullied in such an atmosphere ? But 
the worst was to come. 

There were three tables in the room. Two were crowded by 
aborigines, one was occupied — sparsely now, for the season was 
drawing to its close — by strangers. There were two Italians, 
two Frenchmen, two or three Germans. All were talking rap- 
idly ; the Frenchmen in a low aside. 

Riding rampant upon that gaunt hobby-horse of Old Eng- 
land — strict propriety — I angrily pushed back my chair, in- 
wardly resolving to take the first opportunity to remonstrate 
with William as to the life his daughter was leading. Some 
vague notion of a respectable English boarding-school where I 
could pay a deep debt of gratitude, and cause a hedgeside rose 
to be trained into a fit standard for an English parterre, rose into 
my mind, when certain words falling on my ear sent me head- 
long from strict propriety into the slough of unmistakable Bo- 
hemianism. 

“ I have never before seen a girl half so beautiful !” 

The speaker was one of the Frenchmen, a handsome young 
fellow of four or five and twenty, with a refined face, yet sensual 
eye ; and that eye, beaming with no ray of purity, was fixed upon 
the swelling mieder of Therese. 

“And what a figure, sacrement! Clemence would want to 
kill her.” 

“ Taisez-vous, Brissot ; one is listening.” 

“ Bah ! only an Anglais ; that makes nothing.” 

Whatever it “ made,” I meant to hear the rest of the conver- 
sation if I could. With my eye negligently turned towards the 
table round which the aborigines, their thirst somewhat allayed, 
were beginning to talk noisily, I listened intently. 

“Yesterday I wrote to Clemence that I was coming, but to- 
day I think I will disappoint her.” 

“ Ah, I have not known you since we were students together 
at the Lycee without finding out your weak point, Brissot. 


92 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Be satisfied with Clemence ; she is beautiful enough, is she 
not ?” 

“ I thought so yesterday, but to-day her image on my retina 
looks faded and insipid.” 

“ Faithless gallant ! but have a care ! One told me that this 
girl is as virtuous as she is beautiful.” 

“ They told me that of Clemence.’^ 

‘‘ That means you don’t believe it.” 

“ That means, mmi ami^ exactly what you please to interpret 
it.” 

“ Brissot, I am not going to help you.” 

“ Mon cher^ I shall do very well without your assistance.” 

If there had been any blood in my body to boil, it would have 
boiled now, I am sure. Full of wrath, I watched Therese and 
the dark eye following her. Full of wrath, I vowed to do my 
utmost to take her away from such a life. 

In the meantime the aborigines began to rise from their seats, 
and I concluded that the evening was over. But no ; Peter’s 
Nick and William, assisted by a few volunteers, were clearing 
the room for a dance. And the door opening, in came, blush- 
ing and giggling, a number of blooming daughters of the soil, 
evidently delighted at the noble display of partners awaiting 
them. The strangers rose too, smiling, quite wdlling to join in 
the amusement. 

Some one — I think it was Peter’s Nick — lifted me into a 
corner, where I could look on, the only spectator. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


93 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A BLOW FOR A KISS. 

“ Saw a boy a rosebud sweet, 

Rosebud in the thicket, 

And a green stem was its seat ; 

Quick he ran with eager feet. 

All in haste to pick it. 

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red. 

Rosebud in the thicket. 

“ Broke the stem whereon it grew. 

Pulled it from the thicket ; 

Rosebud said, The deed shalt rue, 

I’ve a thorn that’s keen and true, 

Through thy hand I’ll prick it. 

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red. 

Rosebud in the thicket.” 

Translated from Goethe {Lieder). 

Monsieur did not know it was my Namenstagy It was 
Therese’s sweet voice which just murmured these words at my 
ear. 

“ No, I did not know it.” 

“ Monsieur looks grave and tired. If I did not just now feel 
too good-humored to say anything unkind, I would say, cross. 
But perhaps monsieur is thinking of the beautiful lady ?” 

“ No, Therese, I was thinking of you.” 

“ Oh, I don’t feel honored. For monsieur’s brow is clouded, 
his eye angry, his lip morose. And not a word of congratula- 
tion for my Namenstag 

“You expect me to congratulate you for having grown — how 
old is it? — among these men. Just now I feel inclined to warn 
you — to tell you — ” 

“ Warn me — tell me — what do you mean, monsieur*? If I 
had not nerves of iron I might be frightened to death. But 
out with your warnings ; they won’t improve with keeping, any 
more than beer does when the bottle is opened,” 


94 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Well, are you going to dance 

“ To dance, I ? Ask the sun if it is going to shine, or the 
water to ripple, or the bird to sing. Really, monsieur, you are 
preposterous. You’d better go back to bed again.” 

“ I can’t prevent you, of course. I have no authority over 
you. If I had,” I added, savagely, “ I would not let a single 
man here put his arm round your waist, I would not let a soul 
in the room call you by those caressing names. But — you seem 
to like it.” 

“ Monsieur, you are detestable, you are odious, you are wicked. 
As if the poor lads meant any harm ! It is you who are full of 
bad thoughts, or you would not imagine evil where there is none.” 

We were both now in a fury. Therese’s pale cheek was crim- 
son, her eyes full of indignant tears, her lip bleeding from the 
cruel curb of the pitiless white teeth. 

“ If you were able to dance, monsieur — which you are not, Eng- 
lishmen can do nothing — I would not dance with you. I detest you, 
monsieur. Y ou have hurt me more than I can bear with youi vile in- 
nuendoes. I will never forgive you, and never speak to you again.” 

“All that, mademoiselle, which only proves what a temper 
you have — a temper requiring the severest discipline — will not 
prevent my doing my utmost to prevail with your father to put 
a stop to this. You have saved my life. I am not going to 
forget what I owe you.” 

“ I throw your gratitude back in your teeth, monsieur,” cried 
Therese, her tears dried up in the fire of her wrath, and forget- 
ting with true woman’s inconsistency her vow of never speaking 
to me again. “ You shall not make a strait-laced English miss of 
me. I’ll die first. Let me go, monsieur. How dare you touch 
me ? Are you any better than another ?” 

We had quite forgotten caution, both of us, but fortunately 
our raised voices were drowned in the noise of the arrangements 
for the dance, and in the welcome given to the new-comers. 
Now the ladies were being regaled with some hot beverage, 
which diffused a fragrant odor, and the young men were select- 
ing their partners. There was a universal call for Therese. I 
saw the Frenchman advancing, and I spoke hurriedly : 

“Hate me as much as you will, Therese, but don’t dance 
with that man.’' 

What man, monsieur 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


95 


“ That Frenchman coming towards you.” 

“ That handsome man ! And why not, pray ?” 

“ Because I have the strongest reason for wishing that you 
should not.” 

Her red lip curled scornfully as she answered : 

“ And that is just why I shall do it. Besides, he is a French- 
man. Frenchmen know how to dance ; they are not stupid.” 

“ I will call your father.” 

“ He has been sent for to the village, monsieur ; I saw him 
leave the room a moment ago. And I shall do as I like.” 

The young Frenchman advanced with a low bow, soliciting 
the honor of her hand for the dance. And with a mocking cour- 
tesy to me, she put her hand upon his arm, and was led to her 
place among the dancers. 

The music struck up. Two or three fiddlers had found ac- 
commodation behind the bar for that purpose. Even Fleurette 
was being escorted by Peter’s Nick to the bottom of the row, 
and one or two of the men who had not been fortunate enough 
to secure lady partners jocosely led out substitutes of their own 
sex. In a few seconds the room was in a whirl ; quicker and 
quicker moved the dancers, until girlish cheeks glowed in emu- 
lation of the scarlet bodices, and bodices themselves rose and 
fell more rapidly to the time of the quickened heart-beat. Mop- 
pert, too, had caught the infection, and was whirling a very 
stout Dime, whose waist the little man could only half encircle, 
round with the others. 

I will not enter into further details of the dance. I only 
watched Therese, transferred from one pair of masculine arms 
to another. My anger waning, left me sick and faint. I was 
just making a sign to Peter’s Nick to take me back into my 
room when a catastrophe occurred. 

I know now from her own innocent confession that Therese’s 
fury at my reproof arose in great measure from her own inward 
conviction that I was not wholly wrong. The terms of endear- 
ment, suitable enough for her childhood, were beginning to 
arouse in her womanhood a frequent feeling of shame. My 
cruel probing instrument had sounded the new wound to the 
bullet rankling there, and the first rebound at the smart carried 
her beyond consideration for anything but the intolerable pain. 

Of course the Frenchmaij knew nothing of all this, Her read^ 


96 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


and apparently delighted consent to dance with him ; her smil- 
ing reception of his, at first cautious, and ever bolder and broad- 
er, compliments carried him beyond the bounds of prudence. 
How could he know that her smiles were all subterfuge, her ear 
deaf to his voice? As, in the whirl of the dance, her sweet 
fiushed face came into close proximity to his, he pressed his lips 
to it with a sharp sound, distinctly heard above the moving feet 
and the strains of the music. 

My indignation took away what little strength I had and 
forced me to keep my invalid chair, the most helpless creature 
in the room. I saw the smile, trembling on the lips of the 
maidens, refiected rather ominously in the eyes of their partners. 
Then every one stood still, as if the significant sound had bro- 
ken the spring which set them in motion. 

For they knew the maiden better than he did — better than I. 

Therese had torn herself away from the arms of her partner, 
and now stood facing him, her cheek as pale as the white- 
washed wall of the Schenkstuhe. As for him, he stood feigning 
the smile of indifference, though he knew now that he had 
made a terrible mistake. His friend stood anxiously in the 
background, looking on eagerly. 

“A'r wird Fiegen kriegen^ aber keine sussen^^ said some one 
standing near me. 

The pallor on Therese’s cheek was giving place to a burning 
blush, an angry light hashed out of her dimmed eye, and even 
her dimpled shoulders were so deeply dyed that the mieder 
seemed to pale beside them. Then the fury rushed into her 
hand — that restless hand so quick to respond to any summons 
from the brain. 

The next moment another sharp sound resounded through the 
room. There was an involuntary “ Oh !” from the Frenchman, 
and a laugh of approval from every other mouth present. 

With one hand on his swelling cheek, the mortified French- 
man made good his retreat. I looked round for Therese, but 
she was gone. 

There was no more dancing that evening. Peter’s Nick and 
Fleurette tried to break up the whispering groups, who only 
separated to depart. 

Then Peter’s Nick carried me to bed, and I saw Therese that 
evening no more. 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


97 


CHAPTER XIX. 

UNSOLVED PROBLEMS. 

“ I cannot tell the reason why 
I like her kisses so, 

Yet never beg one; she’d reply, 

I sadly fear, with ‘ No.’ 

My lips meet hers as doth the bee 
Sweet honey sip, instinctively. 

“ Jnst as the zephyr woos the rose, 

I woo ; no ‘ Lovest me ?’ 

Falls from my lips, yet her cheek glows 
A full response and free. 

Ah me ! I never saw the dart. 

Till, subtly aimed, it pierced my heart.” 

Adapted from Uhl and. 

It is undoubtedly true that a good, downright, hearty quarrel 
is often more efficacious in cementing friendship into an indis- 
soluble bond than long years of pacific passivity, that the tender- 
est friendships of our lives are watered by abundant tears, and 
that true love never does run smooth. 

Nevertheless, if quarrelling is essential, it is also very bitter. 
The storm passes over bowed heads, and the period after the 
fury of the tempest until the return of the sunshine is one of 
profound depression. 

I passed a very restless night after my first serious quarrel 
with Therese, seeing her ever anew in my dreams with angry, 
averted face, and hearing anew the ominous sound and the du- 
bious laughs succeeding it. 

At last the morning dawned, and the sun streamed in through 
my window, but it brought no sunshine into my soul. The 
higher it rose, the lower sank my spirits. For the more I sought 
to analyze my own motives for my attack on Therese, the 
more despicable they appeared. I had armed myself with 
the sword of jealousy and the shield of uncharitableness to 
7 


98 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


do battle with the sunbeam for shining alike on all. If 
Th^rese would but come, that I might show her how ready I 
was to forgive. 

But she did not come. How could I expect her to come? 
There are insults too gross to be forgiven. I had been measur- 
ing her by the petty conventional standard, beside which she 
rose as lofty and spotless as her own Alps. I had cast dirt on 
the hedgeside rose for rejoicing other eyes as well as my own, 
though I knew well, even when my anger, the baleful blaze of 
jealousy, was at its hottest, that no fair English girl, however 
guarded, was surrounded by thorns more keen and sharp for the 
punishment of those who would touch as well as admire than 
this sweetest Heideroschen. 

So the refrain of my elegy resolved itself into : Oh, if Therese 
would but come, that I might implore her to forgive me ! 

Nevertheless she came not. 

Only Fleurette came to give me my medicine and the coffee, 
which this morning tasted bitter as gall ; only William, graver 
than usual, but stubbornly silent as to the cause of his gravity ; 
only Moppert, hovering round my easy-chair like a parent bird 
round a threatened nestling ; only evening darkening into night, 
with a restless wind sobbing outside my window, like a lost 
spirit seeking rest and finding none. 

Strive to retain Hope when she would fly from you ; compel 
the fickle goddess to yield to your desire ; try abduction, if 
prayers are unavailing ; clasp her to your bosom until her strug- 
gles cease and she remains motionless— the corpse of a dead 
Hope, more terrible than aught else on earth ! Rather turn your 
face to the wall and read there the dread message of Despair, 
which has at least the merit of consistency : “ Mene, Mene, 
Tekel, Upharsin.” 

Again and again I closed my eyes and tried to forget the hun- 
gry, gnawing pain which supplemented the first sharp agony, 
striving to accept the grisly, philosophic belief that pain exists 
only in the imagination. I had no power to wrestle with it. It 
baffled every effort, and, like an insolent conqueror, put its cruel 
foot upon my neck. 


Monsieur !” 

Just a whisper, the faintest whisper possible, yet shaking every 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


99 


nerve within me like a clap of thunder. I thrust away my dead 
Hope and hushed my heart’s beat to listen. 

“ Monsieur !” 

It was Therese’s voice, and it was soft and supplicating, and 
ended in a sob. I opened my eyes, and there she stood iii real 
flesh and blood beside me ! The lamp cast its full light upon 
her, and I could see how sad she was, her eyes reddened with 
much weeping, her sweet, pale face down-turned ; profound de- 
jection in the hang of her heavy head ; profound submission in 
her attitude, which, as I gazed, sank to the lowest depth of hu- 
miliation. With a fresh burst of tears she flung herself passion- 
ately on her knees by my bedside and hid her streaming eyes in 
the coverlet. 

A moment before I had cast away my dead Hope, and now be- 
hold her again, all the lovelier after her resurrection ! no longer 
a pampered mistress, but a trembling wife, caressing the hand 
which had murdered her. A moment before I had cried “ Pec- 
cavi ” with the loudest, now I was most unexpectedly raised from 
the lowly position of a suppliant into the lofty one of a mag- 
nanimous absolver. 

With a rapid reversion of my mental attitude, I turned a cold 
shoulder towards lovely Hope — for was she not eclipsed alto- 
gether by plump and well-favored Certainty ? — and I let Therese 
sob on ; so sorry that my heart ached, and yet so glad that I could 
have burst out into a peal of triumph. 

But it was not in the girl’s nature to do anything for long. 
After a while she raised her head and fixed her dark eyes, still 
brimful of tears, upon my face. As she opened hers I closed 
mine and feigned to sleep. 

“ Monsieur is not sleeping, I know. I saw his eyes wide open 
just now.” 

No answer 

“ Monsieur, shall I give you your medicine 

Still silence. 

“ Monsieur — ” in an agitated and alarmed voice — “ will you 
not speak to me ?” 

“ Certainly, Therese, / never made a vow not to speak to you 
again.” 

“ Monsieur, why do you speak so coldly and cruelly ? I cannot 
bear it. Why do you offer me a stone when I ask for bread ?” 


100 


THKOUGII LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Therese, yesterday I implored you to take the bread I offered, 
and you cast it from you and trampled it under your feet.” 

“And was I not punished for it, monsieur? Were you not a 
witness to my disgrace ? Did I not break my teeth upon the 
stone I picked up for myself ?” 

“ I certainly hope it proved unpalatable to you.” 

“Unpalatable! It sickened me, monsieur. It poisoned me. 
Yesterday I was honored even by my enemies ; to-day I am a 
byword in Brunnen. And if you hate me too — ” Here she 
broke down into a sob again. (Good heavens ! is it from God 
or the devil that we get the power to hurt those most whom we 
love most tenderly ?) 

“ I do not hate you, Therese. I am only sorry for you ; special- 
ly sorry that you cannot distinguish friends from enemies.” 

“ And being sorry for me in that tone, monsieur, is worse than 
hating me. It shows that you, too, despise me, as I despise my- 
self.” 

I lay quiet, and Therese, after a few despairing sobs, grew 
quiet, too. So quiet, that at last, terrified at the idea that she had 
gone away, I opened my eyes again. 

But there was no fear of that. She had risen from her knees, 
but was still standing beside me, her pale cheek wet with despair- 
ing tears, her full lips quivering, her pretty little retrousse nose 
reddened from suppressed emotion. My heart began to relent 
and to swell up into my throat as I looked upon her, and the 
whip she had given me all but fell from my hand. 

“ Monsieur,” she said again, and her voice was very humble 
and beseeching, “ do let me give you your medicine. I’m sure 
you have not taken it.” 

“ And I am sure, Therese, that I have.” 

“ Two full tablespoonfuls three times a day without me there 
to make you ?” 

“ Yes, Therese, even without the stimulus of your presence, I 
have taken them.” 

“ But your Suppe ? I know you have eaten nothing all day. 
I saw Fleurette bring it out untouched, and if I had not been 
so — so — ” 

“So perverse and naughty, Therese?” I said, suggestively, 
and' with difficulty suppressing the laugh — a remorseful laugh 
though — that was rising. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


101 


“ No, monsieur,” she said, coloring angrily, “ I was not going 
to say that ; I was going to say, ‘ sorry and ashamed,’ but now 
that it pleases you to mock, as well as despise me, I will not give 
you the satisfaction of knowing how very, very mis — I mean, 
how little I care for your anger or approbation, and if it had not 
been for my duty as your nurse — ” 

“ Ho, ho ! mademoiselle,” I thought, “ you have not had 
enough, have you? Very well, I know your raw spot now, 
thank Heaven !” 

After those last angry observations from Therese, another 
long pause succeeded, so long that as the slow seconds ticked 
themselves away it seemed never ending. Finally, however, it 
was broken by another timid inquiry. 

“ Shall I raise the pillow at your head, monsieur, before I go, 
and tuck you in ?” 

“ Thank you, I am quite comfortable.” 

“ Good-night, monsieur.” 

“ Good-night, Therese.” 

This time she made an angry movement towards the door, and 
my heart stood still with terror. My lips were opening to call 
her hack, in another minute she would have been my absolute 
mistress; when, for the second time, with marvellous short- 
sightedness, she put the dropped reins into my hands. 

Turning back, before her fingers had even touched the door- 
latch, she^ank upon her knees again, and, clasping her hands im- 
ploringly, said, with a fresh burst of tears : “ Monsieur, cannot 
you forgive me ?” 

Certainly, Therese, when I am asked.” 

“ But I do ask you, monsieur, I do. You force me to drink 
the cup of humiliation to the dregs, but even it is sweet com- 
pared with the nauseous draught I mixed for myself yester- 
day. Monsieur, say — I ask it on my knees, as I should ask it 
of the holy Mother of God — say : ‘ Therese, I am not angry 
with you any more. I forgive you from the bottom of my 
heart.’ ” 

“ Therese, I forgive you.” 

“ ‘ From the bottom of my heart,’ monsieur.” 

“ From the bottom of my heart ; and more, I ask you just as 
earnestly, just as humbly, to forgive me.” 

“You, monsieur?” looking up delighted. 


102 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Yes, I, Therese. It was right of me to warn you, but it was 
infamous, inexcusable, atrocious, to do it as I did.” 

“Go on, monsieur. Now that you are drinking with me I 
find humiliation the sweetest draught imaginable.” 

“ If you were miserable all day and all night, I was ten times 
more miserable. If you had not come to me, I must have come 
to you.” 

“ What a pity I did not wait, monsieur, though, after all, I 
think I would rather be at your feet than have you at mine.” 

“ That is because you are the sweetest, most generous girl in 
the world.’ 

“ Take care, monsieur. Do not undo what you have done. I feel 
really good to-night and couldn’t say a cross word to Fleurette or 
Peter’s Nick, whatever happened. I have been as crusty as a 
bear to them all day, but I must make it up somehow. As to 
my father, poor dear ! he has had a hard time of it, but to-mor- 
row he will not know what has come to Therese, so velvety will 
be the slipper with which I shall rule him. Don’t spoil what has 
made you a benefactor to the household, monsieur, for it is 
spoiling which has developed in me ‘ a temper requiring the 
severest discipline.’ ” 

“ Which is quite true, mademoiselle ; yet you would not be 
Therese without it. Unsalted meat is tasteless, but there is such 
a thing as an overdose.” 

“Ah, I understand monsieur very well. I maj be as dis- 
agreeable as I please to other people, only not to monsieur. I 
may scold Fleurette and Peter’s Nick till I am hoarse, and mon- 
sieur rather relishes it than otherwise ; I have seen him smiling 
at such times with anything but acrimony. I may scratch other 
people’s eyes out, only I must be sure to sheath my claws in 
velvet when I touch monsieur. I am not blind to monsieur’s 
faults, Gott hewahre! I have my own scales, wherein I weigh 
him, and the faults are heavy enough, goodness knows, yet — ” 

“ Yet what, Th6rese ?” For she stopped suddenly, blushing 
crimson to her finger-tips ; even her eyes seemed to glow as 
eyes do when inward emotion is at its strongest. 

“ Yet I will not run the risk of quarrelling with you again to- 
night,” she continued, slowly, almost dreamily, as if her thoughts 
had fied from her words. “ To-night, monsieur ; at least to- 
night, we will part friends.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


103 


But all the animation, had died out of her face, and over the 
dear, tender, womanly eyes, which were fast filling again, fell a 
dense shadow. I saw her slight frame seized with a sudden 
shiver, I saw her cheek paling until it was almost of the ghastly 
hue of death. 

“ Good-night, monsieur,” she said, solemnly. '■‘‘Lehen Sie wohiy 

“ Say ‘ Adieu,’ Therese. I don’t like ‘ Lehen Sie wohl ;’ it 
sounds — well, it sounds too much like a final parting, and we 
shall meet again to-morrow.” 

“We shall meet again to-morrow,” she repeated, yet her 
sweet voice was toneless and constrained. “ I will say ‘ Adieu ’ 
if you like it better, monsieur ; and what can be better than to 
commend you to God ?” 

“ Let us shake hands, Therese.” 

“Is that shaking hands, monsieur?” for I had imperatively 
drawn her sweet face very close to mine, in spite of her resist- 
ance. “ Fie, monsieur, how do you dare to kiss, when you find 
it so wrong of others even to touch me ?” 

“ Because we have quarrelled and are making it up, Therese. 
Now it is your turn.” 

In the midst of the almost fierce negation to my request which 
was agitating her lips she suddenly changed her mind, wrenched 
herself free from my clinging hands, and, unconstrained, stooped 
low over me, leaving a warm kiss, and its twin sister, a warm 
tear, upon my cheek. Then she was gone, her parting legacy 
the indelible impression of her soft lips upon my face, and in 
my brain many confiicting thoughts and wishes which would 
not assimilate. 

Among others, whether the exquisite pleasure which her kiss 
had given me was not an emotion totally inconsistent with my 
love for the unknown goddess. 

Whether I could ever say again with a shadow of truth that 
my heart, beating violently under my hand, had not been agi- 
tated by this second embrace. 

Whether I should be able to look Moppert in the face again. 

Whether it would not be desirable to begin my crusade to 
the rescue as speedily as possible, or — abandon it. 

Whether any man before me had ever been in love with two 
women at the same time, or whether I was a horrible lusus 
naturoe among my species. 


104 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Whether, finally, I should sleep for the night, and, if so, 
whether my dreams would be haunted by the imploring face of 
La Blonde or the tear-stained one of La Brune. 

Whether, post — finally, I wasn’t a fickle monster who de 
served neither. 


CHAPTER XX. 

PROSIT ! 

“ I laugh at every highly learned ox, 

Who puffs himself as model for my mind ; 

I laugh at all the cowards, fools and blind. 

Who threaten me with weapons orthodox. 

For when the seven blessings that were given 
Are crushed between Fate’s cruel hands, and after 
Thrown down in cold contempt before our feet ; 

And when within us even our heart’s beat 
Is hushed — our soul’s with pain and anguish riven, — 

What have we left but wild and cynic laughter ?” 

Heine. 

It was with no discomposure that I heard, when I awoke the 
next morning after a night of sound and refreshing sleep, the 
rain-drops pattering thick and heavy against my window-panes. 
For within my heart all was serenity and sunshine ; the remem- 
brance of the pain I had suffered only served to enhance the 
profound sense of ease and peace which now possessed me ; 
the storm which had threatened to wreck my friendship with 
Therese was but an animating reminiscence, now that that friend- 
ship was anchored upon a rock. 

So, as a hand was laid upon the door-latch after the prelimi- 
nary rap and the customary Herein^ I turned my face away, 
smiling in anticipation of the pleasure awaiting me, yet wilfully 
postponing it ; partly to gratify the feeling which, oddly enough, 
often prompts us to show most indifference where we feel least, 
partly to make her — the darling ! — as eager as I was. 

But there was no half -imperative, half-beseeching “ Monsieur,” 
though my ears were wide open to be charmed by it. And 
the heavy footfall approaching my bed was surely not that of 
Therese. However wickedly inclined to tease me the maiden 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


105 


might be, she could never have imitated Fleurette to that per- 
fection. But, hoping against hope, I would not look up yet. 

“ llerre !” It was Fleurette (oh ! cruel, cruel Therese !). 

“ Herre, will you have your coiBEee ? It is late.” 

Never had Fleurette’s stolid, unimpressionable, sallow, large- 
featured and high cheek-boned face appeared to me so odious 
before. First wishing her and the coffee — well, never mind 
where, I inquired, impatiently : 

Where is the Fraulein ?” 

‘‘ Eh ? I am a little deaf in one ear.” 

I shouted my question anew into the hand with which she 
made a trumpet for the other. 

“ Das Fraulein ? Ah ! der Herr may well ask where she is. 
But the master may thank himself for it. He wouldn’t heed 
what I told him when she was little, and now she’s got the up- 
per hand, got the power without the sense. I knew how it 
would be, years ago, and more’s the pity that he didn’t heed me.” 

“ Where is she ?” 

“ Gone down to Brunnen, sir, in the pouring rain, to see an 
old woman there who is ill. That’s what she told the master. 
But if he chooses to believe it, / don’t. Why, Madame Sauer- 
wein was just as ill yesterday, and there was no talk of going 
to see her then, though the sun shone. It’s the rheumatism, 
which doesn’t come nor go in an hour. When a maiden like 
Therese is as crazy as that to have her own way, anybody with 
sense in their heads may know that there’s another reason be- 
sides the one she gives. Irgend ein Mannsperson^ wahrscheinlich. 
But it’s none of my business.” 

I thought she seemed to make it very much her business, 
though. I had never heard her speak with so much animation 
before ; her sallow cheek grew warmer in coloring, and her dull, 
fishy blue eyes brightened to the utmost of their capabilities. 

“ Shall I bring you your breakfast, Herre ?” she inquired, again. 

I intimated that she might do so, and during her short ab- 
sence tried to sweeten my bitter disappointment by repeating 
to myself that Brunnen was close at hand, and that Therese 
would speedily return. I was beginning to find life not only 
dull, but also insupportable without the maiden ; to feel her 
presence as indispensable to my well-being as a due amount of 
oxygen in the atmosphere. I could not breathe quite freely in 


106 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


her absence ; I was but half alive without her. Only when she 
was near, smiled or frowned at me, I became my whole self, 
because she had breathed into me a new breath of life, making 
me for the first time all that I could be. Yet, though I was 
supremely conscious of this, I still imagined that my heart 
was another’s. 

When I had finished the breakfast which Fleurette brought, 
I summoned her to come and sit beside me. As Therese was 
not there to be talked to, I would at least talk about her. 

The woman came, the inevitable stocking in her hand. 

“ I suppose you have known Therese,” I began, “ ever since 
she was a baby ?” 

“Yes, Herre. I came to take care of the house and the 
Kindli when the Frau died.” 

“ You knew her mother, too, then?” 

“ As much as ever I wanted to. She was a giddy thing whom 
folk thought well off to have caught an honest man. There was 
talk enough about her at one time. And her daughter is as like 
her as one poppy’s like another in the corn.” 

The stocking progressed rapidly after this little outbreak of 
spite, whirling round and round in the hands that held it, like a 
thing in agony. The expressionless face was capable of one 
expression when roused. Something deep hidden in the heart 
had risen to the surface and was looking at me out of the eyes 
of the speaker. “ Go on, Fleurette,” I murmured. “ Save me, 
if you can.” 

“ But what’s the use of talking to the men,” she continued ; 
“ put a mountain of common-sense on one side and a pretty face 
on the other, and which among them turns to the mountain ? 
Though it’s none of my business.” 

“You were never married, I suppose?” I inquired rather 
maliciously, attributing this last remark to an injured sense of 
non-appreciation. 

“ Yes, I was, Herre, and left a widow with three hungry 
mouths to fill as well as my own. I was but nineteen years old 
when the Joachim came a-courting me, putting it into my silly 
head that I should be better off with him for a master than the 
one I’d got.” 

“ You were not happy in your married life ?” 

“ Happy, Herre ? Who is happy ? ’Tis but a change of mas- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


107 


ters for us women, and the master who pays wage is sure to 
treat us better than the master who doesn’t. The men are all 
alike. Not that it makes auy difference to me.” 

The rain poured heavily, in a steady, depressing, hopeless 
kind of way. There was not a single break in the leaden cov- 
ering of the sky, nor a gleam of brightness anywhere. What 
did William mean by letting his daughter go out in such weather ? 
What did Therese mean by staying away so long? I would 
reproach her with severity when she returned. I would hide 
my delight under a show of anger. Would she be submissive 
or rebellious — shamefaced or indignant? No matter how, if 
she only came. 

For, oh me ! longing was passing into pain, and appetite be- 
coming hunger. 

“ Will she be back soon ?” I said, unable further to curb my 
impatience. 

“ Soon ? Nay, I cannot tell. That’ll be as the whim takes 
her. She never does what you expect her to do. The master 
has himself to thank for it. Maybe she’ll never come hack.” 

“ Woman, what do you mean ?” 

“ You’ll do yourself an injury, Herre, if you put yourself out 
of the way like that. But the men are all alike, every Hans- 
wurst among them.” 

“ What do you mean, I say ?” 

“ Mean ? Why, that Peter’s Nick, who is as big a fool as 
ever drew the breath of life, is glowering out on the rain just 
like you, with a face sour enough to turn the milk. ‘ If you 
want to be pitched into,’ I said, ‘ I can do that as well as the 
Mddel. Flesh and blood wouldn’t stand the way she treats 
you,’ I said, ‘ let alone bones and sinew. But that’s the way 
of the men, they’d rather have a slap in the face from her than 
a kiss from another.’ ” 

I threw open the casement and let the rain fall upon my 
heated head. The wind, rushing in cold and wet, seemed to 
freeze me to my marrow. I shivered and trembled, as it drearily 
repeated the words of Fleurette : “ Maybe she’ll never come 
back.” 

“You’ll catch your death, Herre,” said Fleurette, advancing 
to shut the window. “Ugh! how the wind whistles! You’d 
think ’twas speaking to you, many a time.” 


108 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ What was that ?” I cried, for the door creaked loudly, and 
the latch trembled as if a spectral hand were laid upon it. 

“ It’s the rain-wind,” answered Fleurette, reseating herself ; 
“ it was like this the first night I took the Kindli to my breast 
along with my own Lise, who is just of her age. And the Frau^ 
her mother, was lying laid out in the next room, covered with 
flowers, and quiet enough then. I had the laying of her out 
myself, and a beautiful corpse she did make, to be sure. The 
Mddel would make a beautiful corpse, too ; I’ve often thought 
so.” 

As she spoke, the tortured wind broke out into a prolohged 
and ominous wail, while the old, worm-eaten Schenke trembled 
to its base. The excitement of deferred hope, and the woman’s 
heartless talk, and the tempest together, sent the blood whirling 
into my temples until they almost burst. I began to pace the 
room like a furious caged animal. 

“ They were brought up together,” continued Fleurette, fold- 
ing up her stocking — “ Therese and my own Mddel — and brought 
up just the same except that the one got a sight of beating and 
the other got none. And my Lise’s a good, honest, hard-work- 
ing girl now, earning her eighty francs a year in Lucerne, though 
the lads won’t have aught to do with her, because of a squint 
she was born with and a lame leg that no beating would cure. 
As for the other, if you want to look for her, Herre, go to the 
Mannsleut' — they’ll be the ones that can tell you. When she 
was but a baby she was always in the Schenkstube with the 
lads, and they making as much of her as if she were a count- 
ess. But it’s none of my business, even if it welfe any good 
talking to the men ! Better keep one’s breath for one’s por- 
ridge.” 

She stumped heavily away, shaking every article in the room 
during her progress to the door, and leaving me again to my 
own reflections or to guesses as to what the wind was saying. 

It was saying something now to which I was forced to listen, 
though I would fain have turned a deaf ear to it — something 
about cruel ingratitude to a benefactor — something about a fa- 
ther wronged and a daughter betrayed — something about a kiss 
heavily purchased. 

A kiss ! her kiss ! With another wild rush of the wind Com- 
prehension came and looked down upon me, forcing me to un- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


109 


derstand. I knew now what the wind was saying, and why 
Therese was gone. I knew now what her kiss signified. 

Her kiss ! Again it burned on my cheek, and now like a 
criminal brand which could never be effaced — a brand that 
would stand forever between me and married happiness. 

Marriage ? How dared I contemplate marriage, when all so- 
phistical argument was hushed within me forever ; when I was 
looking upon unveiled Truth and the whip of scorpions she held 
for my chastisement, and shuddering with dread and unuttera- 
ble terror at the punishment I was called upon to endure ? For 
to witness the pain of those to whom we owe much, and whom 
we have injured, is the most awful punishment God can lay upon 
us. And oh, how terrible is his wrath ! Who may stand when 
he is angry ? 

For I knew now that, with every fibre of my heart I loved 
this village maiden — loved her in despite of unknown god- 
desses, and fidelity, and common-sense, and all the rest of it. 
I knew, too — and the knowledge was a sharp sword dividing 
the joints and marrow — that she loved me. Oh joy, unuttera- 
bly divine ! pain unendurable ! for my dastardly, base-born pride 
was still stronger than my love, and, in the fierce conflict which 
would ensue between them, one — the weaker one — must perish. 

I knew now that my love for the beautiful unknown had 
been but a phantom of my own creation ; but this was a flesh- 
and-blood love, with a beating heart and throbbing pulse, which 
would bleed if I murdered it. Yet there was no alternative. I 
must murder it. 

And now it came and stood beside me, looking into my eyes 
with its reproachful ones, and I knew that those tender orbs 
would haunt me forever. Love stood alone, unarmed, defence- 
less, but Pride had an army in its rear. See them rallying 
behind it : my father, my mother. Lord George Graceless and 
Sir Harry Goitt, the world, and the world’s wife. Hear them 
applauding Pride’s vehemently hissed “ Impossible ! Though 
thou art fit to die for love of her, thou canst never make The- 
rese thy wife.” 

“ I might have consented,” so my father seemed to say, “ to 
a union with the beautiful and accomplished lady, the compan- 
ion of a princess, but to this — never. The girl is a Schenk- 
madchen, the Herzchen and Liebcheii of village lads. Worse even 


110 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


than this, she is the daughter of a footman and a lady’s-maid. 
She belongs to the lowest of the people. A gentleman may 
ruin any number of the class he likes, but to marry one of them 
is a crime against society so atrocious that it must be punished, 
for the protection of society, by social death. Good gracious ! 
if we allowed any such intrusion into our phalanxed ranks, what 
would become of us? For we cannot but see that in beauty, 
talent, virtue, these outsiders often — oh, very often ! — carry off 
the palm.” 

To these remarks every one but Love clapped approval. Love 
stood silent, looking at me. 

Fierce and long was the conflict, for, as Moppert said, “ Love 
is very powerful,” but at last it ceased. They locked my heart 
up in a dark dungeon, where it would never more be gladdened 
by the sunshine, and Love lay prostrate and motionless at my 
feet. I turned my head away, for I feared its heart-breaking 
eyes. It was dead ; but even in death was stronger than any 
living thing. 

And this, I thought, smiling bitterly, is the happiness which 
society gives, in exchange for what she has robbed me of ! It is 
a curious-looking creature, and contact with it chills me to the 
marrow of my bones. But Mrs. Grundy has weighed it in the 
balance and declared it not wanting. Prosit to it, therefore. 
I drink your health, fair (no, not fair — foul — what are words ?) 
— foul creature. Long life to you ! 

What are words ? Evidently nothing. Evidently the devil’s 
own invention to mislead us. I am moved to laugh over fools 
that believe in them. You tell me this is happiness, and I 
know it is profoundest misery, yet I say “Amen” to your 
words. Prosit to it, therefore ; prosit, prosit ! 

I have been sitting for a long time, motionless and numbed, 
pondering, half dead and half alive, over the enigma of life. I 
have resolved that death is its only solution. I am becoming 
feverishly anxious for that solution. I wonder whether society 
would approve of the haven towards which I am steering. 

Oh, how my aching head burns, and how high my pulse beats 
against the finger pressing it ; but hurrah, hurrah ! society ap- 
proves of me ! How cold and benumbed is my imprisoned 
heart, but Mrs. Grundy wishes it long life in its dungeon ! 
How profound is the death of all that made life valuable, but 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Ill 


they were offered up to a great Juggernaut ! How I laughed, 
to be sure, with the German student’s gay words of greeting 
upon my lips. Prosit to you, dearly beloved friends, who have 
demanded from me more than my heart’s blood, and have got 
it ! Prosit, prosit, prosit ! 

Then I went to bed and slept, and in the dead of night “ a 
spirit passed before my face, and the hair of my flesh stood up.” 

Oh, my murdered love ! Society cannot exorcise thy spirit, 
or command thee not to haunt me. Even in my sleep I heard 
thee turn in thy coffin, and “ an image was before mine eyes, 
saying — ” 

Oh, my murdered love ! I will not betray thee. Thy words 
are hidden in my heart, and it is only thou who hast the key 
thereof. 


CHAPTER XXL 

“ DOWN TO PENZANCE.” 

« Gladly, 

Yet sadly. 

One presence to flee ; 

Ever 

And never 
A pris’ner to be ; 

Now up in heaven. 

Now sad unto death ; 

Love is life’s leaven, 

Elixir and breath.” 

Translated from Goethe. 

Strengthened to the resolution by a deep draught of a cor- 
dial with which I supplemented my coffee, I determined to tear 
myself away from temptation, and leave Giitsch as speedily as 
possible. And as I dressed with trembling hands I tried to per- 
suade myself that I was suffering in a righteous cause. For the 
iron chains forged by education are the strongest earth knows 
of, and to rend one’s self free from them the work of a Her- 
cules. 

Yet, so inconsistent are we, that, though I resolved never to 
see Therese again, the thought that maybe she had resolved the 
same maddened me. My pride rose haughtily and defiantly 


112 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


against coercion. If I could not be tbc high priest of my own 
sacrifice, I would not submit to it at all. 

My toilet completed and the time for action come, the power 
to act seemed taken from me. My fierce resolve, my fiercer 
opposition, were subdued into a piteous cry for mercy. “Let 
me see her once more,” I cried, “ only once, to say farewell for- 
ever ?” 

I sank back into my seat again, my resolution forgotten, every 
sense turned inward. I sat there for weeks, days, hours — I 
know not how long. They brought me food and drink, and I 
ate, I think. They talked to me, and I answered, I think. The 
body did its best to hide that it was tenantless, that the soul 
had gone from it. 

But I know it was evening, and the heavy sky lightened and 
the stars shining, when William came and sat down beside me, 
looking at me with eyes in which was a whole world of pain, but 
not one gleam of anger. 

Then the soul came back into my body with a rush, and the 
veil which had fallen over my brain was lifted. 

“You know all?” I said. 

“Yes, sir, yes ; I think I do.” 

“ And you are not angry ?” 

“ Sir, I will not tell you a lie. I was that angry with you all 
yesterday that I could have killed you. I came to drive you out, 
and if you had resisted, I would have killed you as I would kill 
a wolf who had crept into the fold.” 

He stopped, trembling ; the veins in his bronzed forehead 
swelling to thick cords, and the sweat covering him like beads. 

“ I would have killed you,” he continued hoarsely, “ as I would 
kill an animal that I had warmed and fed, and that repaid me by 
mortally wounding what was dearer to me than life.” 

He covered his face with his strong hands, and I knew, by the 
quivering of his whole body, that he was weeping. I had sinned, 

I had sinned, but Heaven knows how heavy then was my punish- 
ment ! 

I put my hand upon his arm ; but for the moment it was 
more than he could bear, and he shook it off fiercely. Then 
with a painful effort he regained his self-control. 

“ Sir, I can’t shake hands with you yet — I can’t. Though I 
know by what I saw when I came to drive you out — hoping. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


113 


yes, hoping, that you would resist, and I might have a pretext 
to kill you — I saw, I say, that you were suffering too, and that 
stayed me. And now I have promised her, my maiden, and you 
wouldn’t be safer with the mother who bore you than you are 
with me. You wouldn’t, I say, you wouldn’t.” 

He spoke loudly, as if trying to convince some one who was 
stoutly incredulous, and he clenched his hands with the passion- 
ate vehemence of a man who must hurt somebody, even if it 
be only himself. 

“ And I am glad you are not drowned, I am glad ; but oh, if 
it had pleased God A’mighty to let some one else draw you out 
of the lake !” 

“ William,” I cried, “ my sin has been great, but you think 
worse of me than I deserve. I am afraid you think — ” 

“ I think my maiden’s heart is broke, sir, that’s what I think. 
If I thought worse than that, no power on earth should save you 
— no, nor no power in heaven, neither.” 

“ Have you sent her away ?” The question was forced from 
my lips. I could not keep it back any longer. 

For my heart began to heave and chafe in its dungeon, and 
my lips to tremble with passionate yearning to taste once more 
what I had forsworn forever. I had resolved to give my maiden 
up, but like the drunkard who has resolved never to touch an- 
other drop of that which has unmanned him, like the opium- 
eater who, knowing what he must pay for his ecstasy, has re- 
solved to touch the poison no more, I trembled from head to 
foot with the vehemence of my desire. Resolution, unable to 
cope with Passion, fell prostrate. I must see her again or I 
should die. 

“Yes, sir,” answered William, not .only to the question, but 
to the unspoken thought, “ 1 have sent her away. You must 
never see her again.” 

“ It’s been bore in upon me,” he continued, “ to speak to you 
clear and open, and to save others if I can from that which she 
has suffered. For young gentlemen like you, brought up to 
think the world was made for '’em, do a sight o’ wickedness, and 
cause such misery all along o’ thoughtlessness as might make 
the angels in heaven weep to think on ; but so far as we are 
concerned it might ha’ been worse. My maiden’s heart is broke, 
but there is no stain upon her honor.” 

8 


114 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ I never liad a thought concerning her that was not as pure 
as herself,” 1 interrupted. 

“ Ah, sir,” said William, “ deeds is like words ; they spring 
up, we hardly knows how, and are awful, unalterable facts before 
we had quite shaped ’em into thoughts. The road to sin is like 
the road down our glaciers — soft and smooth and easy. We 
slide down, down, faster and faster, and there we are over the 
precipice, lost forever, before we had even seen to what we 
were driving.” 

I hung my head, and William went on : 

“ There’s a deal in bringin’ up, sir, and maybe if I’d been 
brought up as badly as you I might ha’ been no better. But, 
thank God, I wasn’t. Sin was made hard to me, sir. I’ll tell 
you just a little story out o’ my life, and let it be a warning to 
you. 

“ I were born in Cornwall, down to Penzance — maybe you’ve 
heard tell o’ Penzance — and my mother were a Wesleyan. I 
used to go with her to Gwennap Pit to hear Wesley preach, and 
I never forgot it. AVe lived in a almshouse, for my father were 
dead — he died before I can remember. 

“ There was an old Quaker gentleman who lived near Penzance, 
and my mother had been a servant in his fam’ly — ’twas he who 
got her into the almshouse, where we was very comfortable. 
He lived in a curious old house ; it had been a cottage and had 
got added to, here a room and there a room, as they was wanted. 
This house stood in the mosf beautiful garden you can imagine. 
I’ve seen heaps of gardens, but never one like that ; and as for 
flowers and fruit, there never was any like them in that garden 
down to Penzance. 

“ Well, I used to do a day’s weeding now and then in this 
garden, and one day I was working there, and the strawberries 
was ripe, and the day was very hot, and as I worked the smell of 
’em came towards me so sweet and temptin’, and I couldn’t help 
thinkin’ about ’em. 

“ Now, I had been brought up honest. My mother used to 
say ’twas all one whether you stole a pin or a sovereign, and I 
never before thought o’ tastin’ unless some was given to me. 
But it was hot, and I was dry, and my eyes kept wanderin’ to 
the strawberries and to one in particklar. There was such heaps 
on ’em. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


115 


“ ‘ Thou shall not steal,’ something seemed to say in my ear. 

“ But I was so dry. AVell, I would go and get a drink of 
water. 

“ There was two ways to the well. One led right through 
the strawberries ; the other way was longer round. 

“ I knew which way I ought to take very well, but somethin’ 
else seemed to say that I was a downright coward ; that ’twas 
a heap braver to go into the thick o’ temptation than to run 
away from it, and I listened to this second voice. I didn’t drive 
it away. I listened to it. 

“ Oh, sir, that ain’t true courage. Them as go in pride of 
heart to the brink o’ temptation have no call to wonder if they 
fall over.” 

He sighed deeply, then went on : 

“Well, sir, I hadn’t listened long before I acted. I went 
through the strawberries, and before I had taken a dozen steps 
my eyes seemed forced to look at ’em, and I saw one — oh, so 
big and ripe and juicy ! — and my hand seemed forced to take. 
What can you expect? When you listen to the devil, he soon 
teaches you that he is a heap cleverer than you are. 

“ So I stooped and picked, and before I knew rightly what I 
were doing I had one at my mouth. 

“Then something occurred for which I have thanked God 
ever since, though then I thought I’d rather have died than had 
it happen. Somebody grasped me by the collar, and I looked 
up into the eyes of the master. 

“ And the strawberry, untasted, fell from my lips. 

“ I’ve seen a many kind faces since the old man died, sir, but 
I never saw a kinder. Folk has told me since that for all he 
was a simple Quaker gentleman, he was full of knowledge as 
well as love, and that many people in the great world knew and 
honored him. But, whatever he did for others, I know this, that 
he saved me, and that I shall bless him for it as long as I live. 

“ I think I see him now, in his broad-brimmed Quaker hat 
and knee-breeches ; he was rayther short and stout, but looked 
such a true gentleman as I never saw since. You’d ha’ trusted 
him only to look at him, for there wasn’t a harsh line in his 
face, and his gray eyes, with their bushy white eyebrows, were 
as kind as they were keen. But I’d rayther any one in the world 
had found me stealing than him or my mother. 


116 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ ‘ Boy,’ he said, ‘ what art thou doing V 

“ ‘ ’Twas the first one, sir,’ I stammered. 

“ ‘ IIow many apples dost thou think Eve ate before it was 
sin ?” 

“ I sobbed aloud as he asked the question. ^ 

“ ‘ Now I want to make sin so hard to thee that thou wilt 
never want to try it again,’ he said. ‘ What had I better do — 
flog thee myself or take thee home to thy mother ?” 

“ ‘ Oh, sir,’ I said, ‘ flog me yourself, but don’t tell my mother.’ 

“ ‘ I think I must,’ he said. ‘ I have no right to deceive her, 
and besides, if she’s the Dorothy of old, she’d never think it 
was properly done unless she did it herself.’ 

“ That was so true that I could not say another word. Every- 
body who knew my mother knew that. She had never struck 
me in her life, but I knew if I had to be struck she would a 
heap rayther do it herself, and that she’d be sure to do it thor- 
ough. 

“ So I was marched out through the beautiful garden to my 
home in the almshouse, where my mother sat knitting. She 
looked up amazed as our shadows fell over her ; then after a 
few words from my master looked alone at me. 

“ Sir, I never needed to be told again what stealing only a 
strawberry meant to her. And my master let go of my collar 
to take her hand, saying, in a voice that sounded as if tears had 
got into it, ‘ Dorothy, if I had known I would have kept it from 
thee.’ 

“ I got my flogging, of course, and no light one neither, but 
’twas nothing, nothing after that look. When I went back to 
my work the next day, I had to go and ask my master to for- 
give me. He lifted up my chin and looked steadily into my 
eyes. 

“ ‘ Now, my son,’ he said, ‘ remember next time thou art 
tempted that there’s a flogging at the end of it.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ I answered, ‘ and my mother.’ 

“ Well,” continued William, looking hard at me, “ it were 
bore in upon me that, maybe, ’twere something with you as with 
me and the strawberry — you didn’t know what road you was 
going on. One kiss ’ud hurt nobody — ” 

He paused as if a sudden thought had struck him, and looked 
before him in blank bewilderment. “ But the strawberry,” he 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


iVi 

muttered, “ what about it ? The soft rain and the sunshine 
didn’t ripen it for that. Was it ripened to be thrown away ? — 
it, the sweetest and the ruddiest.” 

Tlie great enigma, the terrible enigma which has racked men’s 
brains oft enough, was suggesting itself to him now, and under 
the pain of it his strong Christian faith trembled and waxed 
faint. “ What about the strawberry ?” he repeated, “ what 
about it ?” 

lie did not know that he would have puzzled all the sages 
and divines the world ever heard of by that simple question, 
lie did not know that behind it lay all knowledge ; beyond it, 
nothing but faith. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A LION IN THE WAY. 

“ And yet, believe me, good as well as ill. 

Woman’s at best a contradiction still.” — Pope. 

Nothing but faith. Yet if we seek faith as God would have 
it, it is not to the learned that we must turn. “ Thou hast hid- 
den these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed 
them unto babes.” 

William’s struggle was but a short one. He could not under- 
stand, but he could believe that God did, and that he was good. 
His brow cleared ; his fists slowly unclenched themselves. 

“ What’s in a kiss now ?” he continued, turning his eyes del- 
icately away from my crimsoning face. “You may kiss your 
sister ; but when you kiss a maiden not your sister, is the kiss 
the same ? Oh, sir, you can’t hoodwink Natur’ like that. She 
knows what she’s about if you don’t. You sow the seed, think- 
ing nothing o’ the harvest, and yet it ripens; and there it is 
with all its poisonous fruit, and you have to gather it. ’Tis so 
pleasant and so easy to say pretty things to a maiden, to watch 
the rosy color rising and falling, to call up at your will bright 
smiles or tears to the tender eyes. But the man who does this, 
knowin’ all the time that there can be no rightful end to it, is a 
greater villain than a murderer of the body, for he murders a 
loving human heart.” 


118 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ I have done bitter wrong,” I cried, stung to the quick, “ but 
I did it in ignorance. And, believe me, William, I never knew 
what suffering meant before yesterday.” 

“ Sir, ’tis plain enough that you too have some’at to bear, and 
I’m glad of it, for I’d swore to make you sorry some road. I’m 
a quiet man, mostly, but there’s one thing can make a wild beast 
of me, and that’s to see my maiden suffer. I’d cut off my right 
hand to save her a tear. Cut off my hand — if ’twould make her 
happy I’d cut off my head.” 

He turned away his honest eyes that I might not see them 
filling. 

“That woman yonder,” he continued, pointing to the door 
between us and the Schenkstuhe, “ does not love my maiden 
because ” — he smiled, faintly — “ there was some as thought she 
would make me a good second wife, and I — well, I loved The- 
reschen best. So when she came with her warnings about you 
and her, I thought ’twas the old tale and paid small attention. 
For, if you were a fool, I said, my Mddel had got sense enough 
for both.” 

I hardly winced, so eager was I for him to continue. 

“ You see, sir, ’tisn’t for want of lovers, young as she is, that 
my maiden hasn’t been married over and over, but she turned 
up her saucy nose at every one on ’em. ‘ There isn’t one of ’em 
fit to fasten thy shoe-buckle, father,’ she’d say. ‘ They’ve all 
got some’at. Some’s miserly and some seem to have holes in 
their pockets. Some’s so silly that if they were women all the 
world ’ud laugh at ’em, and some so wise that they wouldn’t 
want a wife as could see thro’ ’em.’ 

“‘And they’re all masterful,’ she says, ‘and I’ve been too 
long the missus to want a lord to rule over me.’ And then 
she’d put her soft arms round my neck till she could do what 
she liked wi’ me. 

“Ah, sir, I doubt I’ve been over-confident, and now am get- 
ting punished for it.” 

He subsided into a little muse for a few moments. 

“ When the Fohn was signalled, sir, that time that you was in 
it, me an4 my maiden had been makin’ merry over a letter from 
a young tian in Lucerne, as had asked her to marry him, now 
the third time, and seemed as if he wouldn’t be satisfied. 

“ ‘ I’ll send him a basket this time,’ said Therese, wickedly. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


119 


< as ’ll make him wisk he’d been content with wbat he’s got al- 
ready.’ 

“ You know, sir, the maidens here call it sending a basket 
when they say No to a lover. 

“ ‘ MddelJ I said, ‘ thy time ’ll come yet, and then thou’lt talk 
t’other side thy mouth. Take care how thou laughs at love. 
Take care, or thou’lt pick up a crooked stick at last, fit for noth- 
ing but to beat thee.’ 

“ So I talked to her, sir, in the way we talk to our children, 
to hide the folly in our hearts. For I were prouder than she of 
her sperrit and of her beauty. God forgive me, so I was. 

“ She looked up at me with the sudden change which seems 
to make of her sometimes a creature far above us — with that 
grave, earnest look which comes so rare and passes so quick. 
And the color in her eyes goes darker and deeper until they 
look like two deep wells of water, in which only God’s stars are 
refiected. 

“ Then she put her soft little face close to mine, whispering, 
‘ Father, no man alive ’ll ever be so good to me as thou art, and 
if thou wasn’t my father, and came a-courting me, I’d marry 
thee with all my heart, and know I shouldn’t ever live to repent 
it. But when I see how sweet the men are on the lasses afore 
they are their wives, and how little count they makes on ’em 
arterwards, I wonder how the MadeU can be so blind as to sell 
themselves for a few sweet words and a few kisses, and I thank 
the dear God that he gave me eyes to see.’ 

“ She had just said them words when we both noticed how 
dark it was growing ; the sky was all black except in the west, 
which was of an awful red. I knew the Fohn was coming. 
Therese knew it too. 

“ ‘ Father,’ she cried, ‘ look, there is a boat upon the lake and 
two men in it. They wdll be drowned.’ 

“ ‘ Ay, my Mddel^ I said. ‘ The Lord have mercy on their 
souls.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, save them !’ she cried, sobbing, as the bell rang out. 
‘ Father, save them !’ 

“ But the mist had closed the boat in, and we saw it no more. 
Again the bell rang out. You must have heard it, sir?” 

“Yes, we heard it,” I said, shuddering at the recollection. 

“ Every man, woman, and child, all along both shores o’ the 


120 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


lake, sir, know the meanin’ o’ that hell, and in a few moments 
every man, except the old and sick, was down upon the shore. 
I kissed the wet cheek of my maiden, and bid her put out the 
lamps and the candles, and pray to God to give us help, and 
then, with Peter’s Nick at my side, I ran down upon the pier. 

“ Sir, Nick and me is both big, strong fellows, as you know, 
and we pushed our way through the crowd and got to the far 
end, and clung there in spite of the darkness, and the roar o’ 
the wind, and the splash o’ the maddened water, and the fierce 
flash of the lightning, which made the darkness deeper than ever 
arter it. ‘ Herre,’ said Peter’s Nick, ‘ if I’m drownded, you’ll 
be a friend to my Frau and the little ’un, who’s too small yet to 
know what it means to lose a father, won’t you ?’ We was close 
together when he said it, but the spray o’ the water was in our 
eyes, a blinding of us, and the roar o’ the thunder was in our 
ears, a deafening of us, and the glare o’ the lightning was all 
around us, so that when I could see him at all, or he me, ’twas 
as if we was standing in a blaze o’ fire, and his words was like a 
whisper ; I only just managed to hear ’em. 

“ ‘ Nick,’ says I, ‘ thou’rt a brave lad, and in my will I’ve got 
thee and thy heirs written down for five hundred francs, seeing 
that it’s but thy right and due, for thou helped me to earn it. 
If any hurt should happen to thee, Nick,’ said I, ‘ thy Bub shall 
never know what ’tis to want a father, nor thy wife a friend. 
But thou’rt never thinkin’ surely o’ riskin’ thy life to-day to 
save them as God has doomed ; for no boat,’ I said, ‘ could live 
a moment on the lake to-day. We’d better do what the wives 
and the maids are doing — pray for their souls,’ I said. So I 
spoke, sir, forgettin’ what my mother, who were a Methody, had 
told me over and over when I were downhearted — that there 
were nothing too hard for the Lord. 

“ Whether Nick heerd me or no, I cannot tell ; mostlike not, 
for I couldn’t hear myself, the words being tore away out o’ my 
mouth as soon as they were spoken. But I pressed the brave 
fellow’s hand and he mine, and we both forgot. I’m sure, that I 
were the master and he the servant, on the borders o’ that un- 
known land to which we was all of us bound, for two human 
beings were perishing close to us, and we had no power to put 
out a hand to save ’em. 

“We tried to force our eyes to pierce the darkness, until they 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


121 


seemed as if they would spring out o’ their sockets from the 
violence o’ the effort. Then I heerd Nick cry out loud — a 
sharp, sharp cry that pierced a way for itself through the roar 
o’ the wind and the water — and the lightning glared out like an 
answer, and we all saw a boat close upon the pier wi’ two men 
in it, who were jerked out as the boat dashed itself to pieces 
close to our feet, and one of ’em hardly touched the water, so 
quick were Nick to catch him. 

“ But the other, a young man wi’ a pale, handsome face, and 
wide-open eyes, looking straight at me, rose a moment wi’ the 
wave that were carrying him back again, and then went down 
into the depths. And that look seemed to go straight to my 
heart, and to draw me in to him into the water. I never thought 
what I were doing — if I had thought, maybe I shouldn’t ha’ 
done it ; but the next moment there I were, having cried out to 
the other men to give me a rope for the love o’ God, and it was 
boiling madly round me, and bubbling in my ears. And I for- 
got you in the midst of it, and only thought o’ my darling Md- 
del^ and how she would fret about her father. 

“ Sir, how I found and saved you only the dear God knows. 
I suppose my hands knew what they were sent into the water to 
do, though my head had forgotten. But, all of a sudden, just 
when I was losing my senses, the slack rope under my arms 
tightened, and the lads drew me to the shore again, and you 
along wi’ me, and I heard their long, ringing cheers above wind 
and water. And that’s how you was saved, sir, and the first 
part of what’s been made clear to me it were my duty to tell 
you.” 

As he stopped to blow his nose and wipe away a tear that 
had gathered, I found that I, too, had been weeping. I could 
not thank the man before me for having saved my life in mean- 
ingless words, after I had already repaid him in a manner which, 
as he had quietly told me, had broken his heart. But could any 
good thing come from one whose whole life had been misspent 
and wasted ? Can a bramble, however sharply pruned, produce 
grapes? Noble deeds are the blossoms of noble lives, and no 
chance growth to be found anywhere. Yet for all this — oh, un- 
solvable enigma of human motive, as unsolvable as human life ! 
— I went on groping for light down into earth’s dark caverns, 
nor dreamed of turning my face upward to the heavens and the 


122 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE 


sunshine. The only road wherein was happiness lay straight 
enough before me, but a lion was in the way, and I dared not 
venture into it — a lion in petticoats, the dreaded frown of whom 
is more potential than that of an angel sent from Grod, brandish- 
ing a sword of fire. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AS A WOMAN. 

“ Sir Ulrich sings a well-known song. 

Remorse the motive in it ; 

And when ’tis finished, ’twon’t be long 
Till he again begin it.” 

Translated from Heine {Ballads). 

Up to this point William had got on bravely, telling me what 
he had to say in his usual grave and solid way, and rarely 
letting his feelings, though deeply stirred, interfere with his 
straightforwardness. But now he made a long pause, and from 
his eyes, turned downwards towards the tiled floor, great tears 
were falling. Every heavy drop was forced from him by a 
heavier pressure, leaving behind, not relief, but barrenness. And 
when they ceased to fall, and he turned his pained eyes slowly 
towards me, a something in their expression checked the words 
of sorrow on my lips, and compelled me to withdraw my unwor- 
thy grief into the background before the dignity of his. I saw 
the struggle going on between his resolution and the indignant 
pain it was causing him. I saw the pride he deemed he had 
conquered rising up within him to reinforce the pain. 

Yet I could not bear the delay. The overture had but indi- 
cated the theme, and I was panting for the climax. The knife 
still rankled in the cancer, increasing the evil instead of cutting 
it away. I cried out to him to complete the cruel operation for 
the love of God. 

“ There is nothing,” I said, “ that I will not do to atone.” 

The very idea of atonement roused up in William a senti- 
ment of fierce anger. He withdrew his heavy hand from my 
knee, and the corrugations on his bronzed brow deepened into V 
sternness. “ Words, sir, words,” he said, bitterly, “ and mayhap 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


123 


some of your superfluous gold into the bargain. That’s your 
notion of atonement. But me and Tlierese don’t-want neither — 
me and Therese won’t have it. danken, sir, wzr dankenP 

He got up and began to pace the roughly tiled floor, his strong 
hands clenching, his strong frame bowed — oh, how much more 
since yesterday ! — his face working as he struggled to quench 
the rising wrath and remain true to his own resolution. The 
fight was very fierce while it lasted, and for several minutes I 
hardly dared to breathe. Then he slowly sat down by my side 
once more, turning his dimmed eyes towards me again. 

“ Sir, I’ve made up my mind to tell you all. There’s other 
maidens in the world besides mine, and her trouble may be the 
means, perhaps, of savin’ some one else. I will tell you, sir, and 
may it be a lesson.” 

Yet he hesitated so long that I was forced to urge him, 

“You think,” said I, “ that your daughter — you imagine — ” 

But I found it harder than he did, and stopped confused. 

“ Let me say it for you, sir,” said William. “ You liked my 
Therese, you admired her pretty ways, and to my thinkin’ no 
fine lady ever had prettier ones. And though she has her 
faults — bless her ! — they are like the thorns to the rose ; it 
wouldn’t be a rose, nor smell half so sweet, without ’em. 

“You didn’t mean no harm, sir, at first. I do believe that. 
You ain’t one o’ them scoundrels who sets their wicked wits to 
work to win a maiden’s heart, only to break it.” 

“ God forbid I” I cried. 

“You liked her company — who could help liking it? — your 
vanity was tickled to see how much she liked yours — my poor 
lamb ! — you thought, maybe, a SchenkmadeV s good fame weren’t 
worth much thinking about.” 

“ I never thought that, William. You wrong me there.” 

“ Well, sir, mebbe not. I’ve promised not to be hard upon 
you. Besides which I ain’t quick-tempered, or I should ha’ 
handled you last night a heap rougher than I’m handling of you 
now. I like, too, to know for certain that I’m striking the right 
person when I do strike, because, th/Dugh I’m slow to do it, when 
I strike, I strike hard.” 

He paused a moment, sorrowfully shaking his head as he 
looked out upon the stars. 

“ ’Twas Fleurette as told me what were going on, and who 


124 


THROU(iH LOVE TO LIFE. 


brought me to the door to see it for myself through the key- 
hole. (I never looked through a keyhole before in my life, and 
don’t never want to again.) And when I see her at your feet 
and you a-kissin’ of her, and she — oh, my God ! — I said never 
a word to the woman beside me, for she were glad of it, but 
went straight to my own room, and took down a loaded pistol 
and a horsewhip — one for you, one for her.” 

“ She is as innocent as a new-born babe,” I cried. “ Surely 
you will not visit my sin on her ?” 

“ Sir, nobody needs to plead with me for my maiden. There’s 
a voice in my heart which speaks up for her always, and has 
stayed my hand many a time when, mebbe, it had ought to have 
fallen. And it spoke up for her then, and I remembered, too, 
that you were weak and ill, and in my house. So I sat down 
by my bedside, and sat there, sir, all the long night.” 

I had sinned, I had sinned, but Heaven knows how heavy then 
was my punishment ! 

When the morning broke, the sky red as blood, I went to 
my Therese’s door, and bade her get up and come out to me on 
the terrace. Very soon she was there, lookin’ bright enough as 
she came towards me, her face all lit up by the red sunlight. 
She slipped her little hand in my arm, and we both stood still 
to look^t Uri Rothstock and the Gletscher upon it, shining like 
a lake of blood ; and we stood long, for I was loath to speak, 
until the red light died away from the mountains and mists be- 
gan to settle there. 

“ At last I ventured to look sideways at my maiden, and I 
saw that her cheeks were palin’, and her face drawn and sad, 
and her eyes lifted timidly to mine, as if they would fain have 
asked a question and yet were afraid. 

“‘What art thinking about, my MiidelV I said, tenderly. I 
had meant to be a bit sharp with her, but that deep, deep, troubled 
look were too much for me. It always is. 

“ ‘ I was thinkin’,’ she answered softly, ‘ how beautiful it all 
is, father, and that heaven itself cannot be lovelier than our 
Switzerland, and that — ’ 

Here she flung herself into my arms and burst out into a 
frightened cry, holding me so close that I could feel her little 
heart a-beatin’ quick against mine. I had all the trouble in 
the world to comfort her, and her smile when it come was as 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


125 


weak and watery as the sunshine trying in vain to break through 
the clouds. 

“ ‘ Tell thy father, Miidel^ I said ; ‘ sure thou hast no reason 
to fear him.’ 

“ ‘ ’Tis no great thing to tell thee,’ she answered, becomin’, 
all in a winkin’ as it were, once more my mischievous Therese, 
and smilin’ through her tears. ‘ I want thee to give me leave 
and money to go to Lucerne.’ 

“ ‘ To Lucerne, Mddel !' I was forced to sit down on the lit- 
tle bench outside, I was that surprised. 

“ Meanwhile she stood lookin’ at me, her hat hangin’ behind 
her, and her long hair movin’ with the rising wind. And she 
seemed to say, ‘ Don’t go makin’ any fuss about it ; it won’t be 
no manner of use.’ 

“ And, sir, how could any one say nay ; she looked so pretty, 
the mountains rising grand behind her, the shining lake below ? 

“ ‘ First the money, father,’ she said, coaxingly ; ‘ time enough 
for the leave afterwards.’ 

“ ‘ Indeed, and suppose I say no ?’ 

“ ‘ Then thou’lt have to eat thy words and say yes after all, 
and I wouldn’t advise thee.’ 

“ Now, was there ever such a maiden ? And don’t you think 
I must be a great fool, sir, to have brought her up like that ? A 
moment before she had been cryin’ as if her heart must break, 
and now her voice was fresh and joyous. Yet I was glad to 
hear it so, and disposed to let her have her way. Besides, it 
might answer my purpose as well as what I had been thinkin’ of. 

“ So I took her hand and made her sit down beside me, say- 
ing a little sternly, ‘ That’s not the way to speak to thy father, 
Mddel ; thou must try to remember that thou’rt not a little child 
any more, but a grown maiden, who ought to know what is fit 
and proper. But, without being too hard upon thee for what is 
more my fault than thine. I’ll give thee leave and money to go 
to Lucerne on one condition.” 

“ ‘ And what is that, father ?’ she said, quietly. 

“ ‘ That thou’lt stay there until I send for thee.’ 

“ She pulled away her hand sudden and sharp ; and I drew 
my breath hard for the struggle, in which, however much it cost 
me, she would have to give way ; and her eyes flashed, and her 
little hand clenched itself. 


126 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“But slie did not speak a word. She sat down beside me 
on the stone bench, her eyes full of frightened anger, and fought 
the fight out in her own mind, the while I prayed to the dear 
God to help her. And then her head sank upon her hands. 

“ At last my maiden said, in a low voice : 

“ ‘ Father, you are right. I will do just what you tell me.’ 

“ ‘ You know what I mean, my darling ?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, father.’ 

“ ‘ And you know if I hurt you it is because I cannot help it.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, oh yes, father.’ And I saw her lip bleeding from the 
sharp way in which she bit it. 

“ ‘ Father,’ said my Mddel, after a little while, ‘ may I go first 
to see Madame Sauerwein, who is ill, poor thing, in the village ?’ 

“ ‘ Why, yes, if thou likes, maiden,’ I said, surprised at her 
thinking of such a trifle then. ‘ The diligence for Lucerne starts 
from near there. Take an inside place ; we shall have a thor- 
ough downpour to-day.’ 

“ She looked up at me so pitiful that it was a’most more than 
I could bear, and said, in a low voice : 

“ ‘ Father, thou’lt not tell Fleurette why thou hast sent me 
away ?’ 

“ I could hardly help smilin’ a bit at this. And I thought I 
knew now why she wanted to go to Madame Sauerwein’s. 

“ ‘ No, maiden, I will not tell her.’ 

“ ‘ And, father — ’ 

“ ‘ Well, my Mddel'P 

“ ‘ May I — ’ And here she stopped again, and I saw that her 
cheeks were red as fire. 

“ ‘ Mayst thou what, Therese ? Speak, my Mddel' 

“ ‘ Father, thou wilt not understand why I want it. Part of 
what thou hast got into thy head is true, father, though I only 
found it out quite for certain this very morning.’ 

“ She stopped again. Oh, it was hard to see how she suf- 
fered ! 

“ ‘ I knew yesterday, father,’ she went on, ‘ that his anger could 
hurt me even more than thine, and his forgiveness give me joy 
greater than anything, but I did not know quite — ’ 

“ She covered her face with her hands. 

“ < But part is wrong, father, and if thou hadst been the least 
little bit less good and kind — and, father, though thou hast hurt 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 127 

me almost more than I can bear, I never loved thee half so well 
before — never knew before how noble — ’ 

“ She couldn’t keep back her tears any longer. She leaned 
her head upon my shoulder, sobbin’ as if her tender heart was 
breakin’. 

“ Oh, it was hard to see what she had to suffer ! 

“ But she went on again : 

“ ‘ If it had not been for that, father, I might have been tempted 
to deceive thee, but now I cannot, though I warn thee that, if 
thou refuse permission for what I ask, I shall disobey thee.’ 

“ ‘ Therese !’ 

“ ‘ Father, no one shall ever say that Therese is a coward. I 
will pluck the folly out of my heart. I myself will sharpen the 
knife to murder it.’ 

“ ‘ Therese,’ I cried again, almost afraid of my own Mddel^ 
for she had sprung up from her seat, and her long black hair 
was flyin’ in the wind, and her eyes were flashin’, and her lips 
set as firm as a rock. And she looked, I thought, just like one 
o’ them grand women, that Joachim Spritmeier in the village 
tells us of, who led men on to victory. 

“‘I’d scorn,’ she said, ‘to make myself a laughing-stock for 
the village, like Aennchen Amme, because Hansli, of the “ Golden 
Lion,” went a-courtin’ the Gretel instead of her. And I should 
be a bigger fool, because I knew all the time — ’ 

“ She stopped again, wringin’ her poor little hands till my 
heart seemed fit to burst. 

“ ‘ So, father, you’ll let me write to him, won’t you ?’ 

“ ‘ Write to him, Therese ! Are you mad ?’ 

‘“No, father, no. Trust me this once, and all my life long 
ni do your bidding. Do you remember my telling you that I 
should never marry ? That was a girl’s foolish speech, father, and 
deserved to be laughed at. To-day, before God, I repeat it, as 
a woman P 

“ She turned her face up’ard to the darkened sky and clasped 
her hands — her lips movin’, her face workin’. And the rain- 
drops began to patter down upon it, as if an angel up in heaven 
were weepin’ too. 

“ Then she put her hand into mine, calm once more, and I led 
her back into the house. 

“ When she came to your door, sir, I saw her face turn white, 


128 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


and she leaned her head against it. Then she looked up into my 
face, whisperin’ — oh, in such a tone of pain : 

“ ‘ Father, let me stay until he is awake, and carry in his coffee 
once more, and say good-bye. I shall never see him again. He 
will think me cruel and unkind.’ 

“ ‘ All the cruelty is his, and may God give it back to him 
tenfold,’ I said, and every drop of blood within me cursed you 
that moment. But she dragged me from the door, as if she 
thought my anger might do you harm, and she flung herself 
upon her knees before me. 

“ ‘ Get up,’ I said ; ‘ there’s no need for thee to kneel to thy 
father.’ 

“ ‘ I will not get up,’ she said, “ if 1 stay here forever, until 
thou hast promised me not to say one angry word to him, but 
to care for him until he is able to go, as if he were myself. It 
is not his fault. He told me long ago that his heart belonged 
to another.’ 

“ ‘ The puppy !’ I said. ‘ As if he didn’t know that that was 
just the way to set thee longing for it.’ 

“ ‘ Hast thou promised, father ?’ 

“ I heard Fleurette coming. I wouldn’t have had her see my 
maiden like that for the world. 

“‘Yes, yes,’ I said, ‘get up.’ And I pulled her to her feet 
again. She ran away just as Fleurette came in. 

“ ‘ What’s the matter wi’ Therese V said she. 

“ ‘ Cryin’ a bit, because I’ve said nay to her.’ 

“ ‘ AVhat, thou’st said nay ? It ’ud be the first time,’ said 
Fleurette. 

“ ‘ Bah !’ I said ; ‘ get on with thy work, woman, and mind thy 
own business.’ 

“ ‘ Did she persuade thee that kissin’ an English milord is a 
different sort o’ thing to kissin’ a Frenchman V 

“ ‘ Woman,’ I said, ‘ thou’st had thy bite and sup sixteen year 
<in this house, because the Kindli was nursed at thy breast ; but 
say one more word like that, and thou must And another shelter.’ 

“ And she said no more. ’Tisn’t often, sir, that I speak sharp 
to them o’ my household, but when I do, they minds me. 

“ And now, sir,” concluded William, “ I’ve told you all, and 
God grant I haven’t done it for no good. Stay here till you are 
well ; and may God forgive you.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


129 


But he did not give me his hand when he went, leaving me to my 
reflections. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

A LETTER. 

Live a coward in thine own esteem, 

Letting I dare not wait upon I would.” 

Lady Macbeth. 

“ Nous n’avons pas assez de force pour suivre toute notre raison.” 

Rochefoucauld {Fensees et Maximes). 

I WAS dressed, resting wearily upon the bench outside the 
Schenke, longing to be well enough to do something, wondering 
what I should do, when William brought me two letters. 

The overhanging roof of the old house, weighted with large 
stones, sheltered me a little from the noonday sun, which had 
already dried and warmed the spot where I rested. Some friend- 
ly hand had spread a mat under my feet. Below me lay the 
lake, pale in its noonday listlessness ; opposite rose the snow- 
capped mountains. A few gnats danced gayly before me, be- 
hind hummed a drowsy bluebottle, while a solitary bird sang low 
and softly in the wood beyond. Afar off I heard the distant 
Yodeln of the herdsman and the tinkling bells of the cattle he 
guarded. Oh, how peaceful was nature and how little able to 
soothe my troubled heart ! 

All along I had been sustained by a vague hope that Provi- 
dence would send some one to save me, or work a miracle on 
my behalf. All along I had half believed in help from outside 
to sustain and support me. But William’s very nobleness be- 
came my strongest enemy, and Moppert was absent when 1 
wanted him most. There was no one else, no one ! I must 
stand alone or fall. 

Such a necessity comes — must come — to every one of us. We 
cannot always rest upon our neighbors. Each is responsible for 
himself before God. We are, more or less, the carvers out of 
our destinies. We are the framers of our spiritual lives. The 
plea uttered by our first father is as unavailable as it is cowardly 
and base : “ The woman tempted me, and I did eat.” 

The letter I first glanced at was in a strange hand. A man’s 
9 


130 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


— an Englisliraan’s — firm, clear, and decisive. The other was 
also in a strange hand and bore the postmark “ Lucerne.” As I 
touched it my fingers thrilled, and the trembling of every nerve 
told my heart from whom it came. 

Oh, my Therese ! Whatever comes between us, God made us 
for one another ; even if thou wert but a beggar-maid and I a 
King Cophetua. 

I laid this second letter against my beating heart. I laughed 
and cried over it. I pressed it to my cheek, letting the strange 
something emanating from it thrill my nerves anew, and kissing 
it as if it were the dear lips for which I was yearning. 

Then I broke the seal and read as follows : 

“ Hochgeehrter^ gnddiger Herr''' 

I smiled, even laughed loudly over this formal commencement, 
a spasmodic and unmirthful laughter which made my heart 
tremble, then read on : 

“ By this time, monsieur ” (ah ! she could not help it ! the 
old word uttered in a hundred different tones, angrily, impera- 
tively, tenderly, beseechingly, now in mirth, now softened by 
tears — the old word, worth a thousand endearments, crept in 
among the stiff unnaturalness of the distant German ones !), 
“ my father will have told you — for it is now two days ago, and 
I know you will have missed me — that he has sent me away, not 
to return until you have left Switzerland. 

“ He may have told you, too — I almost think he has — the reason 
why. If not, let Therese tell you herself. For, though I should 
die of shame to even breathe it if I were a girl in your own posi- 
tion — a lady fit to mate with you — I am not ashamed to speak 
now. If the grave stood between us we should not be more 
separated than we are. To my mind it does stand between us, 
and I am speaking to you from the other side of it. 

“ My father sent me away, monsieur, and I consented to go, 
even without a Lehewohl, not beeause I care too little for you, 
but because I eare infinitely too much ; because, if I had ven- 
tured to come to you and say good-bye, I should have revealed 
what I am revealing now, without the safeguard of distance. And 
you would have pitied me, perhaps, monsieur, even in the midst of 
^our profound contempt, You would have given me pity for 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


131 


love. There are many stones love will take for bread, but not 
that one, the hardest and cruellest of all. It would have choked, 
not my love, monsieur, but my life. 

“For love, monsieur, even when it is what the world calls 
hopeless, is the grandest, the most ennobling gift that God can 
give to man. Even poor Therese is not to-day what she was 
yesterday. I look upon the world and the human creatures in 
it with different eyes now. I love them all for your sake. I 
was a foolish, giddy, thankless child a month ago ; now I am a 
woman, thanking God for having made me one — thanking him 
above all for the woman’s capacity for loving. 

“ So, whatever you do — however hardly you think of Therese 
— spare her what she verily does not need — your pity. Once I 
told you, monsieur, in one of my naughty tempers, that I cast 
your gratitude back in your teeth ; now I cast back pity. I do 
not need it ; only those do who never know what love means, 
and I am not sad or miserable, but profoundly happy. 

“ So happy, that I thank the dear God every hour for sending 
you to us, also because it was my father who saved you out of 
the cruel water, and I who helped to nurse you back to strength. 
So happy, that I ask nothing more of life than to give me oppor- 
tunity to prove, by love and kindness to others, how real and 
strong is my gratitude. 

“ I have written so much already that my hand begins to 
ache, and yet I have not written a word of what I meant to tell 
you. For, monsieur, the work I came here to do is done, and 
done well. She is with us, sleeping sweetly on the bed close 
beside me ; her golden hair upon the pillow ; her fair face turned 
towards mine ; her gentle breathing plainly audible when I stay 
my pen. 

“ And to know her there, and to know what the knowledge 
will be to you, is joy ; yes, joy inex — 

“ Monsieur, the tears that blotted out that word are all happy 
ones. You know Therese would not tell a lie. 

“ She is very, very beautiful, monsieur. Since I have seen 
and spoken to her I do not wonder at you, nicht ein Bisschen. 
And her soul is as beautiful as her body. It is a woman who 
tells you that, and women understand women better than men 
do. No affectation of goodness can deceive them. You have a 
great deal to do, monsieur, to make yourself worthy of her, a 


132 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


very great many faults to conquer and subdue ; but you will 
subdue them for the sake of your love, and then, together, may 
you be very, very happy ! 

“ I meant to tell you a great deal more about her, monsieur ; 
but Monsieur Moppert must do that now. He came here with 
me, came on purpose to help me. We were only just in time : 
a few hours later, and they would have been on the road to 
Hungary. 

“ I will not pretend to be better than I am. I had my wick- 
ed moment, and during it I hated her more intensely than I 
ever hated anything in my life — would have given worlds to 
have found her so polluted as to render her unworthy of any 
one’s regard — wished her to know something of the intolerable 
pain — 

“ My lamp burns low, monsieur, and my hand trembles, and 
I fancy I am hardly writing what I meant to say. She moved 
in her sleep just now, and cried out loud for help, and her voice 
cut me to the heart. But her troubles are over now, are they 
not? You will love her as she deserves and make her happy? 

“ These foolish tears which blot the words again, and make 
them almost illegible, are only shed for her. 

“Z)ocA noch ein Wortchen. Do you take care of yourself 
now that I am gone ? Do you take your medicine and your 
Suppe regularly? Remember you must not spoil the work 
Therese began ; remember that your life is now consecrated to 
another. 

“ This is Wednesday, and on Saturday Monsieur Moppert will 
be with you. 

“ I can hardly bear to think that these are the last words you 
will eVer see or hear from Therese, that the Lehewohl I am writ- 
ing dare not be followed by an Auf Wiedersehen. But perhaps 
in heaven, monsieur, we may meet again — there, where all men 
are equal. 

“ May Mary, Mother of God, bless you both ! This is my 
daily prayer. 

“ Hochachtungsvoll und ergehenst^ 

“ Marie Therese Eveline Pascoe.” 

I thought I had fought a battle and gained it, but the enemy 
had only beaten a sham retreat, and now, freshly reinforced, aG 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


133 


tacked me in the rear. And oh ! this second onslaught found 
me at a terrible disadvantage ; my strength was exhausted, my 
armor cast aside, and, unharnessed and defenceless, I was now 
wholly at his mercy ! 


CHAPTER XXV. 

LETTER NUMBER TWO. 

“ Double-barbed is Cupid’s arrow ; 

Should it hit thee, heart and marrow, 

Patiently endure the pain ; 

Never seek, good counsel spurning. 

To extract the barb ; in turning 
’Twill but tear thy heart in twain.” 

Translated from Burger. 

I HAD forgotten all about the other letter with its correct 
English address, and it probably would have decayed on the spot 
where it had fallen but for its being recalled to my remembrance 
later on in the evening by the receipt of a somewhat bulky 
packet, the outside of which bore my name in the same well- 
formed though rather stiff characters. The letter had been dated 
from the “ Hotel des Trois Rois ” in Lucerne ; the packet came 
from the primitive Wirthschaft “ Zum Goldenen Lowen ” in the 
village of Brunnen. My unknown correspondent was following 
me up with a vengeance. I began to think it was high time to 
see what he wanted. 

I went out again upon the terrace, picked up the neglected 
letter, opened it, and read as follows : 

“ Sir, — Your sister Aileen has commissioned me to give you 
a packet containing a manuscript in her own hand, and a few 
other trifles which she hopes you will do her the kindness to 
accept. I shall be in Brunnen to-morrow evening, and will send 
them up to you by a special messenger, according to promise. 
Should you wish to see me after perusing the MS., I will do my- 
self the honor of calling upon you. I shall remain twenty-four 
hours in Brunnen. If, during that time, you send for me, I am 
at your disposal ; if not, I shall presume that you prefer not to 
know me. 


134 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“Your present address I obtained from the proprietor of this 
hotel. I regret to hear that you have been ill. 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“ Gerald Malcolmson.” 

This very dry, matter-of-fact, yet puzzling epistle contained 
two or three rather startling clauses. “Your sister Aileen.” 
For the world, my sister Aileen was Miss Aileen Smythe, of 
course ; what on earth did this absolute stranger mean by writ- 
ing so familiarly about her ? “ I shall presume that you prefer 

not to know me.” Why should my sister’s trusted messenger 
imagine the possibility of that ? 

There being nobody to answer these questions, I turned my 
attention to the packet that might contain the solution of them. 
It did contain it in a very lengthened form. Swathed in two or 
three utterly useless articles of feminine handiwork, fit for noth- 
ing but a bazaar, I drew forth a bundle of paper, neatly sewed 
together, and closely written upon. This handwriting I instant- 
ly recognized as no forgery to impose upon me, but really and 
truly that of my sister Aileen. 

Now, I liked Aileen. I am not sure that the small modicum 
of affection I bestowed upon her could be dignified by the name 
of love, but she was not totally indifferent to me. I had taken 
up arms against the dragon Atkinson principally on her account. 
I could not think of her moist little kisses upon my cheek with- 
out a sensation of tenderness. I had long ago made up my mind 
that when I was lord of Ballyacora Hall no one should hector 
my little Aileen but myself, and above all things she should 
never have a husband to scold her until I had fully satisfied 
myself that he would do it mildly. Indeed, I sometimes thought, 
when my tenderness was at its climax, that I would never let her 
marry at all. 

If this Mr. Gerald Malcolmson therefore had come to Switzer- 
land to get my help to enable him to approach Aileen as a suit- 
or, he would have to submit to being called pretty smartly over 
the coals. 

Of course communications of some kind or another came to 
me from time to time from Ballyacora Hall. My father’s epis- 
tles were usually full of glowing anticipations concerning a man 
child yet to be born into a world anxiously awaiting his advent 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


135 


— his grandson and a duLe’s — but, as they also usually contained 
money, I put that thought away from me as something that 
would wait till to-morrow. Florence’s, Mabel’s, and Aileen’s 
were short rehearsals in various keys, from F sharp to G minor, 
of their own dull lives and their wish that something would hap- 
pen to enliven them : “ Even a murder ” — so, on one occasion, 
had written Mabel, who seemed to be developing, according to 
promise, into an odd character — “ would be refreshing. I look 
round sometimes and wonder whether I should not be a public 
benefactor by getting up some such variation.” But only Aileen’s 
— pretty, blue-eyed Aileen’s — ever contained a word of genuine 
love. 

The last month, however, had witnessed the advent of no let- 
ter at all — and, to tell the truth, I had neither sorrowed nor won- 
dered over the omission. Since that memorable event on the 
promenade of Lucerne, the current of my life had set in a fresh 
direction, and, fascinated by the new scenes and impressions 
among which it had conducted me, I had almost forgotten the 
stagnant pool of home and its forlorn inmates. The prince, 
the beautiful lady, Moppert, most of all Therese, had so com- 
pletely filled my thoughts and my life as to leave no room for 
them, until they appeared as an army of phantoms in the rear 
of society, all holding murderous knives wherewith to murder 
my love. 

Except once. When the lady turned her face and fixed her 
beautiful eyes on me, I had been struck by a certain resemblance 
to Aileen. Her hair was of the same golden hue, her eyes of 
the same azure, her delicate, transparent skin of the same purity. 
Of course she was a hundred times more beautiful. That goes 
without saying. 

I have finished the manuscript. Here it is, unabridged. 
Aileen’s story is so closely interwoven with mine that I cannot 
separate them. 


136 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LITE. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

AILEEN. 

“ Planted deep within the flower 
Lies concealed the coming fruit : — 

Once obedience learned — the hour 
Strikes for tend’rest love to shoot.” 

Translated from Goethe (Ballads). 

“ The gentleman who will bring you this, Charley, with the 
smoking-cap and the purse, both of which I have knitted for 
you with my own hands, and cried over, too, more than you 
would imagine (I don’t think they’re much stained, though), and 
will you wear them for my sake ? — the cap, I mean — is — no, I 
cannot bring myself to tell you yet. I am trembling all over, 
and shaking in my shoes like an old woman, at the thought of 
how angry you will be, because your anger will hurt me more 
than all theirs — those at home I mean — seeing that I love you 
best. 

“ Yet I must tell you, whether you are angry or not. Well, 
he is — good gracious ! I wonder whether you are beginning to 
frown, or gnash your teeth, or clench your fists, or do any of 
those horrible things that men do when they are angry, just to 
frighten us poor women out of our wits ! I’ll fetch my vinai- 
grette before I write any more, for fear. 

“ Well, he is — he is — do you remember when you went away, 
promising to bring me back a husband ? Silly old boy ! As if 
any pattern of the article would do ; as if Aileen had no taste 
of her own. Keep your husbands for them that want them. 
Tm provided for. 

“ There now, the secret’s out, and with it all my fear has gone 
too. I am afraid of no man alive, Charley, with him to protect 
me. They have cast me out of what they call home, but my 
home is with him. Papa says, in a furious letter, that he and 
my family disown me forever. Wliat of that ? He — Gerald, I 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


137 


mean — is father, mother, brother, and sister to me, all in one, 
and husband too. I had to choose between him and them, and 
I have chosen with all my heart. I cannot repent it. 

“ Only a few days ago I was talking to my husband about 
you, and he suggested that I should do what I am doing now. 
‘ Give your brother a chance to be your frieiid,’ he said. ‘ Tell 
him your side of the story. Let him judge for himself.’ 

“ In compliance with this suggestion I am writing you, not 
simply a formal announcement, as they do in the newspapers, 
you know, but the why and the wherefore of it. For the sake 
of justice, Charley, read to the end, before you judge and con- 
demn me. Even a criminal has a right to plead in his own de- 
fence, has he not ? And Englishmen — at least I have been taught 
to believe so — love fair play, even when they fag one another at 
Eton — eh ? That’s a rhyme, but I didn’t mean it to be, which 
brings luck, doesn’t it ? 

“ To begin, then, Charley, your little Aileen is legally and 
lawfully married by special leave and license of the dear old 
Archbishop of Canterbury, whose foot I’d rather kiss than that 
of any pope alive. Yet Gerald laughs when I say what a darling 
old love he must be, and wonder whether I shall ever have an 
opportunity of thanking him. I know he thinks I’m a little 
goose — Gerald, I mean — but I’m not nearly such a goose as I 
pretend to be. 

“ I’m not a particularly good housekeeper yet, though, but I 
am trying hard to learn, and I mean to be an out-and-outer in 
time. We live in the funniest little house you ever saw, like a 
doll’s house. Do you know Clapham ? Well, it is there, oppo- 
site a graveyard, so that nobody can look in upon us except 
ghosts, and I don’t believe in them since I am married. I did 
before a little, because we used to be told such horrible stories 
about them when we were in the nursery, to keep us quiet. Oh, 
that terrible bogey that comes down the chimney to carry off 
little girls who scream ! I can see him now if I shut my eyes. 
Black with soot, great red eyes flaming fire, mouth as big as a 
shark’s and full of sharp teeth to eat up crying children with ! 

“ In this dear little house, haunted by nothing but kind words 
and loving kisses, and they — don’t you think so ? — ought to be 
strong enough to keep at bay a whole churchyard of bogies, 
Gerald and I and Margery live ; a great deal happier than the 


138 


THROtTGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


day is long, for when it is gone to bed our happiest time 
begins. 

“ Margery is our maid, the only one we have. I felt rather 
frightened when I first saw her, for she is half a head taller than 
I am, and her cheeks are redder than the red hood she wears. 
But she courtesies to me and calls me ‘ ma’am,’ and, whatever she 
may feel like, doesn’t laugh much at my mistakes. A few days 
after Gerald brought me here, she asked me what she should 
cook for dinner. Now, I can eat a dinner when it is set before 
me, but have as much notion of ordering one as the man in the 
moon — though perhaps he always eats green cheese and don’t 
need notions. 

“ I was in the kitchen when she asked the question, and my 
eye fell upon some eggshells — the remnants of our breakfast. 

a i VVould eggs?’ I said, blushing furiously. 

“ ‘ Oh, no, ma’am, not eggs,’ said Margery, with decision. 

“ ‘ Or — or cockles ?’ I stammered, seizing the word from a 
man’s mouth who was crying them outside the window, and not 
in the least knowing what they were. 

“ ‘ Oh, dear no, ma’am,’ said Margery, more decisively still, 
‘not cockles.’ 

“ ‘ For myself, I should like nothing better than bread and 
butter,’ I said, in my desperation, feeling myself such a little 
duffer, and pretending that the tear in my eye was a cold. I 
really tished^ Charley ! Would you have believed me capable 
of it? 

“ ‘ Master likes fish,’ said Margery, looking things unutterable, 
while I tished again, and scrubbed my innocent nose till it was 
redder than my cheeks. 

“ I rapturously seized the straw she held out, and clung to it 
with the rapacity of despair. (Is rapacity right? It sounds 
romantic and novelish, yet somehow reminds me of pigs in a 
sty. Why, now ?) 

“ ‘ Yes, to be sure, let’s have fish,” I said. 

“ ‘ What fish ?’ said Margery. 

“ The straw broke in my hand. I gasped for breath and im- 
plored memory to come and save me. Ha ! Turhot a la Hoi 
landaise. I remembered that. 

“ ‘ Turbot,’ I cried, triumphantly. 

“ Margery stared. ‘ How much, ma’am ?’ said she. 


tilROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 189 

“ Another poser. But necessity’s the mother of — yon know, 
don’t you ? 

‘ Why, three^ of course,’ I said, firmly, though not quite so 
triumphantly : ‘ one for you, and one for me, and one for — ’ 

But I didn’t finish, for Margery turned her back upon me 
and went into the scullery. There’s just room for her there, 
without breaking many things, if she turns round gently. 

“ Since then Margery tells me what she would cook if she 
were missus, and we get on better. 

“ Groodness ? That’s Gerald’s knock ! and I always open the 
door to' him myself, because Margery might think it improper 
if she saw — 

“Gerald has been reading what I have written. I am very 
angry with him for doing it, but he says he is going to put his 
veto (I don’t know what that means, but am sure it’s something 
tyrannical, because he said it in such a masterful way) on my 
having any secrets from him whatsoever. He says, too, that if 
I ramble on like this I shall want a special messenger to carry 
you my epistle, for that it will he too heavy for him. He says 
that I must extract the pith of the matter — his own very words 
— and send you that, for that otherwise I shall weary you to 
death. But how am I to talk unless it is in my own language 
and in my own fashion ? How’- is poor little Aileen to become 
all of a sudden as wise and matter-of-fact as he ? But I will 
begin at the beginning, at any rate, and try to make it as short 
as I can. 

“ Soon after you went away, Charley, papa took it into his 
head that it was quite time that we three girls should be intro- 
duced a little into society. 

“You may be sure we three girls had no objection to that^ 
Charley. Society ! Balls ! Oh ! I laugh now to think how my 
heart heat when I heard the words, and even Florry’s fair face 
looked a trifle warmer. Florry is our beauty, you know. 

“ Papa actually vrent to London and brought us home some 
lovely necklaces and things, and mamma’s jewel-box was ran- 
sacked, and there was some quarrelling among us as to which 
was to have which, till mamma said: ‘Go and quarrel up- 
stairs ; do what you like there, but leave me in peace.’ Char- 
ley, dear, did you ever dream of a mother who loved you ? 


140 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Our old dancing-master from Cork came specially to drill 
us ; and oh, how he did rap my toes ! and when we’d learned 
how to waltz and galop and the rest of the fashionable dances, 
papa gave a hall — a real hall, Charley ! He said it cost a mint 
of money, hut he hoped ’twould be a good investment. He 
meant, I think, that he hoped Florry would get married, and 
Mabel, and perhaps I. 

“ There were lots of officers from Cork at the hall, Charley, 
and I heard them talking among themselves once, of papa, and 
Florry, and Mabel, and me. And they talked of us girls as if 
we were horses they had come to see trotted out before they 
bought them, and of papa as if — but oh, I won’t say how they 
spoke of papa, not even to you ! 

“ But I thought, as I sat in my corner hidden by a curtain, 
that at any rate Aileen wasn’t a horse whom they might have if 
they would pay for it. And my cheeks burned with shame and 
with anger, and I had to bite my lip so hard, or I should have 
cried ; and if I had, shouldn’t I have caught it from papa ! 

“ Oh, the conceited creatures with their small waists — Mabel 
says they wear stays — and their long moustaches, and their white 
hands, and their simpering smiles, and their rude laughs and 
jokes aside! Yet lots of girls colored up with pleasure when 
they asked them to dance, and seemed to think it the grandest 
thing in the world to be whirled round the room by a uniform. 
I used to think officers were men, Charley, who went out to fight 
our battles and to protect the country they loved. JSTow I think 
they are uniforms, stuffed ; sillier than the silly girls who think 
it an honor to dance with them. ‘ But you won’t, any one of 
you, get Aileen to dance with you,’ I thought ; and I shouldn’t 
either, only none of them asked me. 

“ But the swell of the ball, Charley, was a live lord ! Only 
think ! Viscount Kilreeny, one of whose estates is within a 
drive of Ballyacora. I looked at him with awe, but he seemed 
like any other man, only rather worse ; and simpered, and ate 
and drank — drank a great deal, and hiccuped after it — and 
laughed and joked aside, juSt like the officers. I was never so 
disappointed in my life. A live lord ; and if Fd met him in the 
street I shouldn’t even have looked at him. 

“ I must try and tell you what he’s like, though, because he’s 
got a lot to do with my story. He’s a little taller than papa, 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


141 


and has a pale yellow face, and a pale gray eye, and a mixy 
complexion, and a mouth that looks as if he’d just swallowed 
some vinegar and didn’t want you to know it. And his hair is, 
oh, so black, with a greenish shade, and his teeth, oh, so white 
and a little too large for his mouth, and he wears an eyeglass 
in one eye, and has to make horrible faces to keep it in its 
place, and it tumbles down, notwithstanding, every other minute 
or two. I never talk to my Lord Viscount without counting the 
seconds till his eyeglass falls, and you wouldn’t believe how 
nervous that makes you. 

“ I didn’t dance much myself, so I had plenty of time for 
watching the others. Papa told me to keep in the background, 
because I mustn’t stand in the way of my sisters. So I only 
danced the lancers with Harold Lanyon — my old chum, you 
know — and one galop with a stupid boy who trod on my dress, 
and the last waltz with — guess ? Give it up ? Why, with his 
lordship. Viscount Kilreeny. 

“ When he asked me I looked at papa, and papa nodded, but 
very angrily, and when the dance was over ordered me to bed 
with a look which seemed to promise ‘ a far from agreeable 
interview ’ — that’s what Mab calls ’em — for the next day in his 
study. But, goodness knows, / couldn’t help it, and didn’t en- 
joy it at all, for the noble lord’s hair smelt of some nasty stuff 
that turned me sick. 

“ I heard two old dowagers say, as I passed them, that it was 
wonderful how genteel Miss Florence Smythe looked, consider- 
ing. And that she was the belle of the room, and that it was 
no wonder that my Lord Kilreeny didn’t take his glass off her. 
They said eye^ but I say glass. I like to be accurate, and I saw 
it fall three times upon her bosom. 

“ Ethel — naughty girl ! — was in her nightgown on the land- 
ing, dancing a -pas seul to the music, her long black hair tum- 
bling down over her, and her great dark eyes full of excitement. 
Oh, I did scold her ! It was so nice to have somebody to scold, 
I was so cross. But the silly child actually cried, and then I 
had to tell her all about the stupid ball to comfort her. I won- 
der if papa ever felt sorry after having scolded me. 

“ But I got no scolding the next day ; not an angry word. 
Papa was kind to all of us, and once patted Florry on the head. 
For a minute I really thought he was going to kiss her ! ! 


142 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ If I were to tell you everything, ’twould make a book. We 
had oceans of balls after that first one. Mr. Lanyon gave a ball. 
Viscount Kilreeny gave a ball. The officers at Cork gave a ball. 
And Florry was the belle at every one of them. Mabel’s pale 
face was said to be dutinguL And as for Aileen — I know what 
was said of her, and so shall Gerald, every word of it, if he ever 
forgets what is due to that fascinating creature. 

“ I don’t know how Ethel got to know that the viscount was 
courting Florry. (‘ Courting ’ seems a vulgar word to use when 
you speak of a live lord, doesn’t it? I suppose I should say, 
‘ was honoring Florry with his attentions.’) Every one seemed 
to know it after a bit, but Ethel guessed it first. And if she 
liked him, I was pleased enough, for now he came every day to 
ride with her, and I was allowed to ride too, as Mabel doesn’t 
like it. What fun we had, Harold Lanyon and I, sometimes 
watching the noble lord honoring Florry with his attentions, and, 
when that became too slow, bounding off at a wild gallop, leav- 
ing them to follow at a decorous trot. Papa shouldn’t have put 
me on a horse’s back and let me taste liberty, if he intended to 
keep me in subjection. 

“ It was Harold Lanyon who first noticed the mischief my 
wildness was doing. ‘ He looks ten times as often at you, Aileen, 
as he does at your sister,’ said he. ‘ By St. Patrick ! I’ll be sworn 
it’s you the swell’s in love with.’ And then he put his hand on 
my hand, holding the whip, and said : ‘ If I wasn’t as poor as a 
church-mouse, and forced to read, hang it ! for Holy Orders, I’d 
let no man in the world squint love at you — that I wouldn’t.’ 
Poor old Hal ! I’m almost as fond of him as I am of you, Charley 
dear. 

“ ‘ Let’s take the ditch,’ I said, rather frightened — not at it, 
but at the eyeglass of the noble lord’s. ‘No,’ said Harold. 

‘ Yes,’ said 1. ‘ Give her her head,’ shouted Harold, as my mare 

rose for it in answer to my whip ; but the next moment I was 
in the ditch, covered with mud, dripping with dirty water, my 
foot twisted and sprained, and looking as little like a creature 
to fall in love with as ever naughty girl did in this world. 

“ ‘ You deserve I don’t know what,’ said Harold, angrily, dis- 
mounting to pull me out again. 

“‘Well, at any rate,’ I thought, as he wiped my streaming 
face with his handkerchief and shook me a little, ‘ there’s one 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


143 


good thing will come of it. No more aberrations (aberrations 
is the word, isn’t it?) in the eye of the noble lord. He’ll think 
of me now as a wild schoolgirl who ought to be whipped and 
sent to bed.’ And then Harold gave me another shake, and 
blushed as red as I did, when the two hove in view, at the pickle 
we were in. 

“ Florry looks beautiful on horseback, Charley. Let me out 
with it and have done with it, for in my heart I don’t admire 
Florry at all. Her figure is exquisite, her complexion like pure 
white velvet tinged with pink, her eyes such a deep, dark blue, 
the knot of her silky black hair behind absolute perfection. 
These pretty words are Harold’s, not mine. I asked him what 
he thought of Florry, and he said all that ; and then he added — 
but, never mind ! 

“ ‘ Oh, Aileen P she said, as she rode up to the ditch. 

“ ‘ Bless my — er — er — soul !’ said the noble viscount, as if he 
wasn’t quite clear whether he’d got one. 

“ What could I do but hang my head, and blush, and wish I 
were dead, Charley? I was always the pickle of the nursery, 
and the times I’ve wished I were dead, in corners and dark clos- 
ets, you wouldn’t believe, for fear of the bogey. The bogey I 
feared now was papa, and I wondered if the viscount would tell 
him. And then Harold lifted me up on my horse and rode 
home with me, very gloomily, to the time of the ‘ Dead March 
in Saul.’ 

“ When I was a little girl, Charley, and began to learn music 
and didn’t — neither do I now — like practising scales and five- 
finger exercises, I set my wicked little brains to work to find a 
plan to escape them. I dipped my head, long hair and all, into 
a basin of cold water, and dried it out of an open window 
through which came a cutting east wind. I remember now the 
feeling of fearful delight with which I went to bed, expecting 
to get up in the morning with such a sore throat as never was. 
But I slept like a top, and woke in the morning feeling as well 
as a cricket. And, oh, the scales I had to practise that day ! 
Do you see the meaning ? Silly old boy ! men are so slow at 
seeing meanings. If you try not to do anything you are all the 
more certain to have to do it. 

“ Margery has come to lay the cloth for dinner, and that is — 
it — Gerald’s foot upon the pavement. Good-bye; you 


144 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


are nothing now that he is there — my husband — my husband — 
who is all the world to me ! 

“Gerald has gone again — back to that Moloch of a business 
(I know Moloch is right, because I asked Gerald), and won’t be 
back for ever so long. Yet, if he didn’t go he wouldn’t come ; 
and, oh, the coming — the coming ! 

“ I’ve helped Margery wash up the breakfast things (I only 
broke one cup) ; told her what to cook for dinner, though I know 
she won’t cook it ; watered my flowers — two buds on the chry- 
santhemum, which Gerald thinks may come to blossom ; fed my 
canaries, they’re just like us — so fond of one another ; dusted 
my drawing-room — such a mite of a room ! — mended my pen, 
and begun again. I dare say you won’t read half of what I’m 
writing, but I’m so full of it, it will come out. And I’ve no- 
body to talk to but Margery, and that would be intra digg, wouldn’t 
it ? That’s Latin : ah ! you don’t know how clever I’m getting ! 

“ Yes, there is some one else to talk to. Some one who knows 
you, too. Would you like to know who it is ? That’s a secret, 
and I can keep secrets, you shall see. 

“I was telling you about Florry and Florry’s noble lover. 
But I must go back a bit first, and tell you about some one else 
and how we got to know — never mind yet whether ’tis a him or 
a her. 

“ One day Viscount Kilreeny, turning over a portfolio, came 
across a wretched little sketch of Florry’s, and said she ought 
to learn how to draw. Papa always echoes everything the vis- 
count says, so papa said she ought to learn to draw, too. ‘ I’ve 
got a young-er-fellah down from er-London,’ says the viscount, 
‘to make some alterations in-er Kilreeny Castle. He teaches 
er-drawing.’ 

“ ‘ Send him to Ballyacora,’ says papa. 

“ So he came. And now I suppose you’ve guessed that it’s a 
he. But, never mind, you’d have to know some time. 

“ We were all out when he came, except papa, who engaged 
him on the spot to come and give us lessons three times a week. 
‘ He seems a decent sort of fellow,’ said papa, ‘ and to know his 
place.’ 

“ I saw his card lying on papa’s study-table, and took it up 
and read it, ‘ Gerald Malcolmson, Architect.’ That was what 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


145 


the card said ; nothing more, Charley. Not a word of all the 
pain and hope and fear and joy. 

“ I carried the card into the schoolroom and showed it to Ma- 
bel. ‘ A pretty name, isn’t it ?’ I said, and then I laughed, and 
added : ‘ Perhaps he’ll fall in love with one of us. What a joke 
if he does ! Wouldn’t papa be fit to kill the one, eh, Mab ?’ 

“ ‘ ’Twould be a joke which the one wouldn’t see, I fancy,’ 
said Mabel, severely ; ‘ there’d be more crying than laughing 
about that joke, and I hope it won’t be me.’ 

“ ‘ You ! No, Mab, I don’t think it will be you,’ I answered ; 
‘ it will be me. * I dreamed last night of a burial, and saw three 
black crows this morning. I wonder whether papa will beat me 
to death or lock me up in the cellar.’ And then I danced away 
laughing, for I saw by the backward turn of Ethel’s head that 
the chit was listening. 

“But when he really came, and I saw him standing by the 
side of papa — the one short, stout, bald, pompous ; the other tall, 
grave, gentlemanly — oh, Charley, how is a woman to describe 
the man whom she loves ? 

“Not that I fell in love with him there and then. It wasn’t 
love, but shame, which made my heart beat so quickly and so out 
of time, and made me hang my head, and sent the red blood to 
my cheek. For when I saw him, so different from what I had 
fancied, I was so ashamed of what I had said to Mabel that I 
would have liked to run away and hide myself. 

“ I fancy I can see us all again, just as if somebody had paint- 
ed a picture in my head : he, looking so much more of a gen- 
tleman than papa, although he only wore a short shooting-coat, 
as simple as possible ; Ethel staring at him with wide-open black 
eyes ; Miss Whitfield, the present ‘ young person ’ who teaches us, 
trembling at sight of papa; Mabel smiling her queer, sarcas- 
tic smile ; Florry looking as unmoved as a duchess ; and I my- 
self blushing like a goose — I didn’t see myself though, of course, 
only felt what an idiot I was looking. 

“ ‘ These are my daughters,’ said papa, introducing us, ‘ and 
this,’ with a nod to Miss Whitfield, who looked as if it were a 
blow, ^ is my daughters’ governess. Florence, show your draw- 
ings to Mr. Malcolmson. Ethel, if you can’t behave better than 
that I’ll send you out of the room. His lordship thinks that 
Miss Smyth e has undoubted talent.’ 

10 


146 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Mr. Malcolmson looked at the drawings, but said not a word. 
Mabel smiled that sour smile of hers. There was a dead silence. 

“ ‘ Well, ril leave them to you,’ said papa, who doesn’t know 
a stick from a stone in a drawing, and was glad to get away. 
And then our new master put aside all Florry’s crooked cottages 
and tumble-down trees, and gave her a clean piece of paper and 
a sharpened pencil, and set her a few straight strokes for a copy. 
It was always best, he said, to begin at the beginning. All this 
while he never looked at Florry, which I thought strange. All 
men looked at Florry, who, till you’re tired of a face that never 
changes, is a great deal better worth looking at than her drawings. 

“ Oh, how my hand aches ! I’ll rest now and begin again in 
the evening. 

“ I’m going to begin with a confession, Charley. I’ve been a 
bad girl ; I know I have. But it’s like this : when we get a 
new teacher, I always try — -something makes me try — whether 
he or she, or I am the stronger. If I am, woe betide the stran- 
ger ! If he or she is, I submit. And very soon I began to try 
my hand on Mr. Malcolmson, and found my master in him. 

‘‘ Never was so proper a young man, I should think. He 
make love to us ? Very, very soon we had to make love to him, 
or, rather, mind our P’s and Q’s when he was teaching. Even 
saucy Ethel only tried disobedience once. She 'began to chat- 
ter, and was told to be quiet. Her great black eyes flashed, and 
she talked the harder. And then without a word — without 
force — I don’t know how — she was packed out of the room, at 
liberty to talk on the other side of the door. I looked at Ma- 
bel’s twitching mouth, my own twitching, but was called to or- 
der by a stern inquiry as to whether I thought trees grew like 
that in nature. 

“ ’Twas no use to snub Mr. Malcolmson — he wouldn’t be 
snubbed ; ’twas no use trying to disobey him, so I obeyed. 
And soon I began to do more — I began to try to please him. 

‘ He’ll be sending Florry out of the room next,’ grumbled 
Mabel, when he was gone. 

* If he does, she’ll have to go,’ I answered, shortly. 

“ ‘ Or boxing your ears by way of a change. It looks a deal 
more likely than falling in love with you.’ 

I don’t know why those words of Mabel should have made 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


147 


me so miserable, for I had noticed something. I noticed that, 
though he seldom praised the others, he never praised me ; 
though he always spoke gravely to them, he sometimes spoke 
sharply to me ; and, even when I tried my best to please him, 
he always showed me what I might have done, instead of being 
pleased with what I had. 

“ The next lesson, I brought him a drawing I had done alone, 
and done well, I thought. I had taken a great deal of trouble 
with it, and 1 gave it to him, smiling, thinking he would be sure 
to praise me. He gave a little start when I put it into his 
hand, and looked at me with such an odd look : not pleased, 
but full of trouble. Then he said, sternly : 

“‘I do not wish you to draw alone. You will do yourself 
more harm than good by attempting it. The perspective of 
this drawing is quite false.’ 

“ Charley, I cannot tell you how I felt, but I said to myself : 
* I have tried to please him and I cannot. I will try no more.’ 

“ He got a fresh bit of paper, and prepared it for me, and put 
the pencil into my hand. Our fingers touched as he did it, and 
a great pain seemed to run into my body from the touch. But 
he should not make me cry. I would die first. 

“ ‘ Begin,’ he said. 

“ But I dashed the pencil down, and looked at him, and said : 
‘ I will never draw again. I have deserved praise, and you 
treat me as if I deserved punishment.’ 

Then I ran out of the room and into the library, and locked 
the door, and fiung myself upon a sofa, and covered my mouth 
to keep myself from screaming ; and I lay there till the clock 
struck four, and he came out. 

“ And when he came out I forgot my anger in the terror lest 
he should go away angry, and I should never see him again. 

“ You know how high the library window is. No matter, I 
jumped out of it on to the gravel, and ran in among the shrubs 
down to the avenue leading to the north lodge, for I knew he 
always went back to Kilreeny Castle that way. And what I 
was going to say to him I didn’t know the least bit, only I 
couldn’t bear that he should go away hating me. 

“ ’Twas only when I heard his step coming down the avenue 
that I began to feel wonder as to what I should say to him, and 
every moment I thought about it I grew hotter, till at last, when 


148 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


I saw him through the tree branches, I could think of nothing 
but how I should escape again ; and I began to run back faster 
than I had come. 

“ But in running I caught my foot in the root of a tree and 
fell, and in another moment he had broken through the shrubs 
and was kneeling beside me. 

“ Oh, I had hurt myself very much, I knew, for when I tried 
to move I could not help groaning. And when I groaned, he 
groaned too, and looked at me with such a look. He was not 
going away hating me, Charley. I knew that then. 

“ His touch — so unlike anybody else’s touch, Charley — kept 
me from fainting for a minute, and then the sky turned black, 
and I thought I was dying ; and I wasn’t sorry to die either. 
Doesn’t that sound like something out of one of mamma’s three ? 
I am laughing while I cry over it, yet I am crying most. That 
smudge is a tear ; don’t mind it. 

“ I’ll run and fetch my vinaigrette and bathe my eyes with 
cold water, for it’s near Gerald’s time for coming; and if he 
finds me with red eyes he’ll put his veto^ or something, on my 
finishing what I’ve got to say. And the most delicious bit of 
it, and the most fearfully awful, is coming — in the third volume, 
you know, as all the tit-bits always do. 

“ There now, I’ve emerged from the romantic — isn’t that grand? 
— by pretending to scold Margery, and am quite myself again. 
And now I can go back to lying on the wet grass, with Gerald 
kneeling beside me making it all the wetter with his tears, with- 
out being too sentimental. By-the-bye, Gerald declares he didn’t 
cry, and doesn’t know how to. ‘ Tell your grandmother,’ I 
say; ‘I felt them’ — meaning the tears — ‘warm upon my 
face.’ 

“ Anyhow, when I came to myself he had got his arm under 
my head, and was asking me, in a voice as gentle as it used to 
be stern, if I were better, and if I could move without pain. 

“ I tried to move, ashamed of having forgotten how odd it 
would look if anybody came and found us, but the trying made 
me groan again. 

“‘Where is it?’ he said, in the old sharp way, putting his 
lips together hard ; but I wasn’t afraid of him now — not a mor- 
sel. Or, only afraid in a new way — afraid of hurting him, 
Charley, not of his hurting me. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


149 


“ ‘ In my left shoulder,’ I answered, trying to smile ; ’twas 
hard work though. 

“ ‘ You must let me look,’ he said, and now he spoke in the 
old masterful way. ‘ I’m a sort of Jack-of-all-trades, and know 
a little of everything. You won’t mind much, will you ? There’s 
no one else. I’ve been to the lodge already, and it’s too far 
back to the house.’ 

“ ‘ You will do what is right,’ I said. 

“ It was he who smiled now, though his lip was trembling, 
and I wouldn’t have let him see how frightened I was for the 
world, when he pulled out a knife. But I shut my eyes when 
he began to use it, though it was only to cut open my dress at 
the shoulder, leaving it and my left arm bare. 

“ ‘ Ah, I see what it is,’ he said. ‘ Now, Miss Aileen, I am 
going to hurt you, but you will be a good girl and forgive me. 
Scream as loud as you like ; there’s nobody here to hear you but 
me and the birds.’ 

“ And I did scream, Charley, sure enough, as loud as he could 
wish, when, with a sharp, clicking sound, he pulled my arm into 
its place again. Then the sky turned black once more, and I 
couldn’t see him, only hear his voice. 

“ ‘ Thank God that it is over,’ he said. Then, quite sternly, 
‘ Miss Aileen, you are not to faint again. I won’t allow it.’ 

“ But I had to go, even though I tried to obey him. I could not 
help myself, and it was a few minutes before I could open my eyes, 
or knew where I was. Then I saw that he, too, was as white as a 
sheet, and that his forehead was wet with drops of perspiration. 

“ ‘ How can I ever thank you ?’ I said, ‘ and after I had 
been so naughty !’ 

“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you were naughty;’ and, Charley, he may 
take his affidavit on his word and honor, but I’m mre there was 
a tear in his eye, and I think two^ but perhaps my faintness may 
have made me see double. 

“ ‘ But I have been punished,’ I said, beginning to cry my- 
self, ‘ you don’t know how severely.’ 

“ ‘ And punishment is a very good thing for most of us,’ he 
answered. 

“ But, now that he began to be so masterful, I grew a little 
angry, and remembered how unjust he had been. 

“ ‘ You were unkind to me, though,’ I said. And I felt it 


150 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


SO particularly hard that he should have been unkind to me that 
I began to sob. 

“ But he did not say a word to comfort me ; he looked ex- 
actly now his old self again, and his forehead was lined, and 
his mouth firm and straight, and the tear was dried up in his 
eyes, and his whole manner hard, and he said, sharply : 

“ ‘ Miss Aileen, it is time I carried you up to the house.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I can walk.’ 

“ ‘ I think not. At any rate I shall not let you.’ 

“ ‘ Mr. Malcolmson 1’ 

“ ‘ Miss Aileen !’ 

“ But I forgot to be angry any more when he lifted me, and 
my heavy head sought his shoulder as if it were its natural rest- 
ing-place. Yet we never, either of us, spoke another word till 
he put me down in the hall. 

“ I have been crying again, and why, I do not know. To- 
morrow I will take a fresh sheet and try and finish. To-day 
I cannot, somehow.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A LIVE LORD. 

“ Ja ! Lieb’ ist hoher Leben im Gemeinen.** 

(Yes ! Love is higher life in commonplace.) 

Uhland. 

“ What a heap I have written, to be sure, and yet I’ve al- 
most as much more to tell you. Have you got a waste-paper 
basket over there in Switzerland; and will this be thrown into 
it, I wonder ? 

Never mind. I’m doing what Gerald told me to do, any- 
how, and that’s one comfort ; and I’ve found some one it isn’t 
intra digg to tell it to, and that’s another comfort, and Latin 
into the bargain. 

“Well, Gerald put me down in the hall, and the footman 
stared as if he’d stare his eyes out, till Mr. Malcolmson sent 
him off to fetch Mab. And when Mab came she stared just as 
much, only her eyes aren’t quite as round as his. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


151 


“ Wasn't it clever of Gerald to send for Mab instead of Florry ? 

“ But Mab’s staring didn’t last long ; and a new look came 
into her eyes which made me blush as red as a lobster, and then 
she turned her back on Mr. Malcolmson in her quick way, and 
told John to carry me up into my room, and came herself and 
sat down beside the bed, and looked at me again. 

“ ‘ Here’s a pretty kettle of fish,’ said she. 

“ I put my arms round her neck and drew her head down to 
mine upon the pillow, and cried until her hair was wet and her 
collar dabbled, and I could cry no more. And she let me do it, 
too, and never said another word until I stopped. 

“ ‘ Oh, Mabel dear, help me !’ I said. 

“ ‘ I’d far better whip you,’ she answered, smoothing her hair 
— she cannot bear it rough ; ‘ but I suppose I must do worse 
than that — tell papa.’ 

“ ‘ Mabel, you are cruel.’ 

“ ‘ Would it be kind to let you stay in your fool’s paradise 
till you have eaten the apple ? But I’m afraid you have eaten 
it already.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I’m so miserable,’ I sobbed ; ‘ I wish I were dead.’ 

“ ‘ Of course you are. That’s the consequence of sucking 
poison. It’s sweet in the mouth, Aileen, but bitter in the stom- 
ach. As for that parson-looking young architect, who you’d 
have thought was as proper and pious as a dean of eighty, I’ve 
a great mind to send John after him with a horsewhip.’ 

“ ‘ Mabel, he never said a word to me. Could he help my 
falling ? Was it not kind of him to pick me up ?’ 

“ ‘ He can help looking at you like that, I suppose, the goose ! 
I thought he had some sense before, but find he’s as silly as the 
rest of them.’ 

“ ‘ How did he look, Mab V I cried, eagerly. 

“ ‘ Oh, don’t think Pm going to give you any more of the 
sweet, poisonous stuff. I’m racking my brains to find an emetic. 
Ha, I have it! You’ll go to Corvanny House to-day on your 
long-promised visit to Alice Lanyon.’ 

“ ‘ Go to Corvanny House 1’ 

“ ‘ Yes. I’ll drive you over myself in the phaeton. Your 
shoulder’s a little stiff, I dare say, but never mind that. You 
deserve to be hurt a little.’ 

“ ‘ Go to Corvanny House P 


152 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ ‘ Lie down, Aileen, this moment. What do you mean by 
frightening me like that? Would you rather I told papa ? And 
when you are there, I’ll drop Mr. Malcolmson a line, and request 
him to find some excuse for not coming again. I think he’ll 
have the gumption to understand me.’ 

“ ‘ What do you mean, Mabel ? Do you mean, never to see — ’ 

“ ‘ Break your descent from heaven to earth by a little mid- 
air flirtation with Harold Lanyon. He’ll be delighted to sup- 
port you in the clouds.’ 

“ ‘ I will not go to Corvanny.’ 

“ * You don’t like my emetic ? But it is answering its purpose. 
You are turning sick already.’ 

“ Oh, Charley, Charley, the thought of that terrible moment 
turns me sick again, and faint, and fit to die. Every drop of 
blood in my body rebelled against this cure. 

“ ‘ Let me help you to dress, Aileen. Drink the cup to the 
dregs.’ 

“ ‘ I will not drink ; it is killing me.’ 

“ ‘ Nonsense, it is curing. You will — ’ 

“ ‘ I will not. I will NOT. Take away your loathsome cup 
from my lips.’ 

“ ‘ Empty it first.’ 

“ ‘ Not if you kill me. Not if you tell papa.’ . 

‘ Hoity-toity ! Hear how this helpless girl defies the uni- 
verse ! But disgrace and shame are strong motives, Aileen.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Mabel, but there is something stronger.’ 

u ‘ Very well. Stay at home, and let papa take you in hand. 
I hear his boots creaking on the gravel.’ 

“ I heard them, too, Charley, and fell back upon my pillow, 
sobbing again, for I was afraid ; oh, I was afraid ! 

“ ‘ Take a little time to think about it,’ said Mabel, and she 
spoke in a kinder voice. ‘ To-morrow you will be stronger in 
mind and body, and will give me your hand, I hope, and let 
me lead you out of your Garden of Eden. Child, do you think 
you would be happy if you married a poor man like that ? Men 
are cruel, Aileen — take from a woman all she has to give and 
then forget the sacrifice ; and he is no exception to the rule, be- 
lieve me.’ 

“ I only half listened to what Mabel said, for, though I don’t 
know why, I’m sure, that word married took all the romance 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


153 


out of me. Marriage ! I had only thought of love, or, rather, 
thought of nothing except that to touch him — to be near him — 
seemed the only thing worth living for. Marriage ! Why he 
had never asked me, or kissed me, or touched me, hut when he 
must. He was my master. I had been naughty, and, because I 
had been punished for it, he had forgiven me. And now it was 
not Mabel, but something else, which drove me out of the Gar- 
den of Eden. 

“ I’m only a silly little thing, Charley, and not full of wise 
thoughts like Gerald and you, but I saw the flaming sword and 
felt it. And I cried no more ; for crying comes when you are 
hurt a little, not when your heart is pierced through and through. 

“ Mabel went away and left me to sleep, as she said ; but I 
did not sleep ; how could I ? how could I ? 

“Are you getting tired, Charley? Does this commonplace 
love of silly little Aileen’s seem ridiculous when you think of 
the duke’s daughter whom you are going to marry ? Oh, dear ! 
maybe it’s like the fable in that absurd ^sop about the boys 
and the frogs — only fun to you, while it was almost death to me ! 

“ I was very poorly for a day or two, but nobody seemed to 
mind it much, except Mabel, who nursed and scolded me, and 
— who else do you think? Give it up? The noble viscount. 
He sent every day to inquire. I thought I had done him a 
wrong, and that he wasn’t so disagreeable as he looked, but I 
never thought — oh, me, again ! why do things go so contrary in 
this queer world ! — everything higgledy-piggledy, and upside 
down, and inside out. 

“ I had been sitting at my bedroom window looking down the 
carriage drive and watching him — not the viscount, Charley — 
come slowly up it. I thought perhaps he would look up — I 
was so afraid that he might look up that I hid myself behind a 
curtain. If he had I should have been angry, because papa 
might have been looking out, too, and seen him, but when he 
didn’t, not even lift his head for a moment — he might have pre- 
tended to be looking at the sky, you know — I was so much 
more angry that I cried out loudly that I hated him, and then, 
frightened at the lie I was telling, covered my face with both 
my hands and burst out a-sobbing. 

“ ‘ Miss Aileen, you are wanted in the study.’ 

“ Good gracious, Charley, what a turn it did give me, to be 


154 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


sure ! I had felt so angry with him that I had been thinking 
how I could hurt him most, and had wondered whether if I 
died he would be sorry, and whether the chemist in the village 
sold poison. I should be afraid to drown myself in the pond 
down by the lodge, for there were ghosts there, I knew. And 
yet I thought he could hardly help crying a little, if he saw me 
floating there with golden hair — thdt’s another rhyme — and a 
white paper pinned to the bosom of my frock to say that if he’d 
looked up I shouldn’t have done it. And I was so full of this 
that I went and lay down upon the floor, and lay quite straight 
as dead people do in coffins, and crossed my hands upon my 
breast, and shut my eyes, and made believe that I was really 
dead, and that he was looking at me, and so sorry that he hadn’t 
looked up. And you can’t think how it comforted me ! 

“ And it was just then that James knocked at the door and 
said, ‘ Miss Aileen, you are wanted in the study.’ 

“You should have seen how quickly I came back to life at 
hearing these words. It is so much more romantic to die than 
to be scolded by papa. And, of course, that’s what I was want- 
ed for. So I had to brush my hair, and sponge my eyes with a 
little of Rimmel’s Aromatic, you know, and run down-stairs as 
fast as I could. And I got to the study door breathless, and 
burst it open in the way for which I am always being scolded. 
Then I stood still, and waited to hear what papa had to say to 
me. 

“ He began in an odd way. He began with an ‘ ahem !’ 
Now, you know, or perhaps you don't know, that papa usually 
begins with a stronger word than that when he scolds us girls. 
And it wasn’t ‘ ahem ’ either ; it was ‘ er — er — hem !’ so I looked 
up in amaze, and met a fishy gleam shining through a glass cov- 
ing. And I knew it was his lordship. Viscount Kilreeny. 

“ ‘ Oh, I beg your pardon,’ I said, blushing furiously. (And 
while I think of it, Charley, couldn't you bring me home some 
cure for blushing ? It does look so very ridiculous to see an old 
married woman in a low dress — not that I wear them much now 
— blushing all over her neck and arms. The more I try not to, 
the more I do it. I’ve tried saying, ‘ It will all be the same in 
a hundred years,’ and it doesn’t help me a bit. I wonder if 
leeches would — what do you think ?) 

“ ‘ Not at all,’ said his lordship. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


155 


“ * I think papa wants me,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Not at all,’ said his lordship again. ‘ To tell the — er — 
truth ’ (and I shouldn’t think he tells it very often, Charley, he 
bungled so over it), ‘ it was I that wanted you, not your papa.’ 

“ ‘ What do you want me for ?’ I said, and I suppose it was 
rude to say it to a live lord^ but he did look such a duffer. 

“ ‘ My — I mean — Miss Aileen, you are a — er — doos — er — un- 
common clever girl ; answer the question yourself.’ 

“ ‘ I wouldn’t have asked it if I could have answered it, my 
lord,’ I said pertly. 

“ ‘ Doos — er — uncommon clever,’ he repeated. ‘ Pray sit down, 
my — Miss Aileen, and let me — er — stand.’ 

“ ‘ What !’ I said, ‘/sit, and you a live — ’ But I didn’t fin- 
ish, Charley. I nearly burst out laughing, though, and had to 
pretend to use my pocket-handkerchief, and even then almost 
betrayed myself. 

“ ‘ My — Miss Aileen,’ he said, getting up and taking my hand 
— and, oh, Charley, the horrid creature actually it — ‘ there 

are some questions — er — doosedly unpleasant for a fellah to put.’ 

“ ‘ Then don’t put them, my lord,’ I said. And then I used 
my handkerchief again, and said to myself ten times over, ‘ It 
will all be the same in a hundred years ; it will all be the same 
in a hundred years.’ But I knew, for all my saying it, that I 
was crimson. 

“ ‘ No,’ he said, brightening and letting his eyeglass fall upon 
my shoulder, ‘ I — I — won’t. Mutual understanding so much 
more — er — agreeable.’ And then, oh, Charley ! he stooped his 
greenish-black head and tried to — to — 

“ If you can’t guess what he tried to, never mind. I don’t 
think he thought before that Aileen had such a temper. 

« ‘ For — for shame, my lord,’ I said. ‘ I — I am not Florry. 
But I am her sister,’ I added, with a burst of rage. ‘ I am her 
sister, my lord.’ 

“ ‘ I never thought you were an iceberg,’ he said, more eager- 
ly than I ever heard him speak before. ‘ Handsome girl, your 
sister, very — but a fellah likes warmth.’ 

“ If he wants warmth, he shall have plenty of it, I thought, 
soon, and indeed I was like a furnace already. And then I tried 
to restrain myself, and to be dignified, and to look like a heroine. 

“ But, Charley, I can’t play the heroine for the life of me. 


156 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


If I toss my head, my curls come tumbling down. If I try to 
curl my lips, they only pout ; my neck isn’t long enough for 
arching, and there’s an absurd dimple in my cheek that makes 
me look like a baby. If I frown at Harold Lanyon, he only 
laughs and says : 

“ ‘ Go it, Aileen ; you do look jolly when you do that.’ And 
he’s a sort of a make-believe lover, you know. Other men give 
me their hand instead of their arm when they want to help me 
over stiles and things, and treat me as if I were in short frocks. 
That is to say, did treat me — they can’t now, you know. 

“So I dare say I only looked like a little idiot instead of 
looking dignified, and the noble lord went on unabashed : 

“ ‘ Miss — may I say Aileen ? I felt that it was you cut out 
for me by what you may call — er — fate, the very first time I 
danced with you. When your curls tickled my cheek — er — I 
felt that you were horn to be a viscountess.’ 

“ ‘ I’ll go straight up-stairs and cut off my curls,’ I said, ‘ or 
I would, but for papa. Would you accept them as a keepsake, 
my lord ?’ 

“ ‘ I’d a great deal rather you kept them on your pretty head, 
my — Miss Aileen — because I want the — er — head too.’ 

“ ‘ Do you want me to cut off my head ?’ 

“ ‘ Not exactly. He — he ! sharp that — very ! The curls be- 
gan it, and the leap — uncommonly plucky thing for a girl to do 
— finished it. In fact — er — floored me.’ 

“ ‘ What do you mean, my lord !’ 

“ ‘ That a girl who can rise to a ditch like that is worthy of 
any station. You’ve got wealth, beauty, pluck, and by — er — 
Jove, I’ll make you into a — er — viscountess.’ 

“ ‘ Are you asking me to he your wife ?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ he answered, ‘ I am. Why shilly-shally about it ?’ 

“ I didn’t try to he a heroine any more. I only said, ‘ No, no, 
no, a thousand times,’ and bolted — I mean, of course, ran — to 
the door. 

“ But his lordship — I didn’t think it had been in him — was 
quicker than I, and held me hack. 

“ ‘ Let me go,’ I panted. 

“ ‘ Your father says yes, Aileen.’ 

“ ‘ I will not speak another word until you open the door.’ 

“ ‘ But a lady’s “ no.” ’ And now he fell upon his knees — 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 157 

to me — a live lord ! There’s that comfort, I’ve had a live lord 
upon his knees before me, and it’s worth going through some- 
thing for that^ isn’t it ? When Gerald vexes me. I’ll remind him 
of it. 

“ Nevertheless, somehow I got away, and ran up-stairs to my 
bedroom and locked myself in, and cried till my head ached. 
Everything seemed going wrong with me. And I was sitting 
there in the twilight, and thinking of the pool again, when there 
was another rap at the door — a sharp rap, and one I was forced 
to answer. Mabel had knocked before with my tea, but I 
wouldn’t let her in. 

“ What papa had to say to me I’ll tell you another time, for 
I must stop writing to-day. I’m tired and have other things to do. 

“ I begin to think I could write a splendid novel if I tried, and 
read up some long words for it. My story doesn’t sound as 
well as it would if there were longer words. Now there’s paral- 
lelogram — that sounds romantic. But I can’t make it fit in. 
And there’s archaiologicJc (I’ve just looked it out in Walker) 
— that sounds bewildering, but then it means ‘ relating to an- 
tiquities ’ — another stunner — and though Gerald and I are quite 
old married people now, we weren’t then, and so it wouldn’t suit. 

“ Neither would delirium tremens. (I’ve asked Gerald how to 
spell that.') It’s what your Patsey, you know, that you used to 
lick — I mean, of course, correct — has sometimes, and is sure to 
die of, so the doctor says ; and when he has it, he raves and 
rants and rushes about like a madman. But if I wrote, ‘ Papa 
rushed towards me in a delirium tremens,' you might not know 
that I meant ‘ Came in in a fury.’ 

“ Which reminds me of Margery. She wrote a letter to her 
love the other day, and told him he might come on Monday even- 
ing at ‘ zackly ’ half -past seven. She showed the letter to Gerald, 
and he suggested she should put exactly for ‘zackly.’ ‘Well, 
sir,’ said Margery, ‘ “ eggs ackler ” is nice words, but I’m afeard 
he wouldn’t understand ’em.’ And that’s the way with me ; if 
I were to have written, ‘ The noble lord described a parallelo- 
gram,’ you’d never guess, would you, that a live lord had been 
down upon his knees before me ? 

“ To go back to papa. It was a fury he was in, and oh, how' 
I trembled ! And when he said, ‘ Now, miss, what’s the meaning 


158 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


of this (and then he used such a bad word, Charley) nonsense ?’ 
I wished I hadn’t put off going to the pool, and would rather far 
have been floating upon it — a ghastly corpse (doesn’t ghastly 
corpse sound goose-fleshy ?) — than sitting facing him. 

“ ‘ Answer me,’ said papa. 

“ ‘ I don’t like him,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Like him ! What’s that got to do with it ? I like him,’ 
said papa. 

“ What could I do but cry, Charley ? So I cried and cried 
and cried. 

“ ‘ Now just you look here,’ said papa. ‘ He’s coming again 
to-morrow, and to-morrow you’ll say yes. It’s a (and here he 
used that wicked word again) nuisance that it isn’t Florry he 
wants, but no matter. There’ll be one of you off my hands, at 
all events. To-morrow you’ll say yes.’ 

‘ I can’t say yes, papa.’ And then I took his hand and put 
it to my lips, and said, sobbing, ‘ Dear papa, isn’t it a dreadful 
thing for a wife not to love her husband, and perhaps — who 
knows ? — to love some one else V 

“ He tried to take away his hand, but I went on : 

“ ‘ Dear papa, I am only a foolish girl and know very little, 
but I can fancy I should want to kill myself if I were forced to 
marry a man whom I could not bear to touch or look at — whom 
I could not honor, papa, as well as obey. I fancy I should die, 
or grow hard and cold and cruel, and hating him first, hate every- 
body afterwards. Dear papa, would not you, too ?’ 

“ He got away his hand then, Charley, and looked at me with 
such a look, and his red face turned gray, and he seemed to 
gasp, as if I had struck him. I went on — something inside me 
seemed to put words into my mouth : 

“ ‘ Oh, papa, you would not condemn me to that, would you ? 
— your poor little Aileen. For, papa, you were young once, and 
loved some one, maybe, and mamma was young, and — ’ 

“ But I could not go on with that, Charley — that seemed so 
impossible. 

“ For a moment I thought I had conquered. His face worked, 
his eyes grew dim, his breath came short and quick. Then the 
color came back to his face, and he pushed away my hand — I 
had put it on his knee — and he grasped my shoulder — grasped 
it so hard that I nearly cried out loud with the pain. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


159 


“ ‘ Look here, no more of that,’ he said, using some dread- 
ful words again. ‘ It’s a daughter’s duty to obey her father, 
and it’s a father’s duty to make her if she won’t. You’ll say 
yes to-morrow, or I’ll know the reason why.’ 

“ I did not answer him. 

“ ‘ Speak,’ he said, shaking me. 

“ ‘ I will not tell you a lie, papa. I cannot marry the viscount.’ 

“ Oh, Charley, how can I tell you ? It seems almost too dread- 
ful to write. With his other hand he struck me — struck me on 
my head with such force that I turned faint and all but fell. 
And I was so frightened that for a second — only for a second 
— I nearly gave way, nearly promised to do what he bade me. 

“ But he did not strike again, or even try to find out what ef- 
fect his blow had had upon me. He might have been the one 
struck himself, for he let me loose instantly, and put up both his 
hands to his head, and stood looking at me as if I were a ghost. 
And then without a word he went to the door and opened it 
and went out. 

“ But he locked the door after him and left me alone — a pris- 
oner. 

“No one came near me all the rest of the day, and I began to 
feel something of the pain of starvation, for I had had nothing 
to eat since the morning. The sun sank, and the shadows in the 
room seemed to turn to living things and to move towards me 
slowly, like stealthy murderers. At last I saw even them no 
more, and saw nothing. And I thought I was really dead, and 
that some one — my Gerald — was crying over me. 

“ And his tears fell so cold upon my face, that, with a great 
effort, I said : 

“ ‘ Don’t cry ; it hurts me.’ 

“ ‘ Thank God !’ cried an eager voice, but it was not Gerald’s ; 
it was Mabel’s. And I could see her now, bending over me. 

“ ‘ Aileen, Aileen, my darling,’ she said, ‘ are you better ?’ 

“ ‘ Mabel, is it really you, or am I dreaming?’ 

“ ‘ It is really me. Here is some breakfast, Aileen. Try to 
eat it.’ 

“ ‘ I think I had better die, Mabel. Papa struck me.’ 

“ ‘ I know,’ she said, setting her teeth. ‘ Never mind, dear. 
I will help you now. I will help you now' 

‘ What do vou mean ?’ 


’00 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ ‘ That with the blow, Aileen, he struck something else be- 
sides you, and struck it dead.’ 

“ ‘ What, Mabel ? You look fierce and angry. You frighten 
me.’ 

“ ‘ My sense of duty to him, Aileen — my hesitation to help 
you. Eat, my darling ; eat and live, and be happy.’ 

“But she was forced to feed me after all, a spoonful at a 
time. And when I had eaten as much as I could, she undressed 
me and put me to bed. I had not been in bed, but had been 
lying on the floor all the night. 

“ ‘ Now, there you stay for the next fortnight,’ she said ; ‘ the 
doctor is coming.’ 

“ ‘ But I am not ill.’ 

“ ‘ You’ll have to be ill to save my reputation.’ 

“ ‘ Mabel, why do you always talk in riddles V 

“ ‘ To conform with everything else in the world. All our 
life’s a riddle, and I’ve given up trying to guess it.’ 

“ ‘ Why a riddle, Mab ?’ 

“ ‘ You are a riddle, first of all. You might marry a viscount, 
and prefer to marry a poor architect.’ 

“ ‘ Marry ? Oh, Mabel, Mabel dear !’ 

“ ‘ Don’t begin to cry again, Aileen. Papa’s another riddle 
— might be respected by his children, and prefers to be de- 
spised.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, Mab, you always laugh at everything, and yet your 
laughter is bitterer than my tears !’ 

“ ‘ Mamma’s the third — might love and be loved, and prefers 
to feel the emotion through the medium of a novel.’ 

“ ‘ How clever you are, Mab ! Where do you get the long 
words from?’ 

“ ‘ And I’m the biggest and most incomprehensible riddle of 
all — might run away, and don’t.’ 

“ ‘Well, dear, what next?’ I asked, for she sat upon my bed, 
silent, her lips pressed hard upon each other, her broad fore- 
head frowning. 

“ ‘ Eat and drink,’ she answered, ‘ for to-morrow we die.’ 

“ ‘ Mab, I love you better than any one else in the world, ex- 
cept Charley, and — and — and — but sometimes I feel more afraid 
of you even than I am of papa.’ 

“ ‘ It’s papa that’s getting punished to-day,’ she said, smiling. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


161 


‘ I’ve told him that you are dying of hunger, and he’s in what 
Charley would call a desperate funk.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Oh, Mab, but it was not true.’ 

a i Very well, then marry the viscount.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, Mab, dear, help me !’ 

“ ‘ Just what I’m going to do, if you’ll be a good girl and do 
what I tell you.’ 

‘ I’ll do anything, Mab.’ 

“ * First answer me this, though — and now, Aileen, I want the 
truth. You needn’t try pretence with me. Do you love Mr. 
Malcolmson ?’ 

But how could I answer her, Charley — how could I ? I only 
burst out sobbing again, and hid my burning face in her bosom. 
And she kissed me, and said : 

“ ‘ Never mind, dear, I know now. And here is something 
for you. I’ve had it in my pocket a week ; and all the week, 
till yesterday, I was debating whether I ought not to give it to 
papa. Read it, and be happy.’ 

“ Then I suppose she went, Charley, for when I thought about 
her again she was gone. But I didn’t think about her for a 
long, long time, for the letter was from him^ and I was drinking 
of a cup so sweet, so sweet ! Do you know the taste, Charley ? 
Do you think the duke’s daughter will mix such a draught for 
you? 

“ The viscount came and the viscount went, but I never said 
yes to him. He’s engaged to Florry now, and will be our 
brother-in-law before Christmas. And I was ill for a fortnight, 
and the doctor came and looked at my tongue, and felt my 
pulse, and shook his head over the puzzling case, and sent me 
medicine — oceans of it — but his medicine didn’t do me the least 
good in the world. Physic won’t cure love, will it ? 

“ And Mabel nursed me all the time, and brought me love- 
potions, and at the end of the fortnight she and I got up one 
morning with the cock-crow, and went out together into the 
park through a window, with the dew thick upon the ground, 
and the deer looking at us with wide eyes of sympathy. 

“A little way from the lodge there was a carriage waiting, 
and a lady in it — an old lady with the sweetest face you ever 
saw — -who took me to her bosom, and cried over me, and kissed 
me a thousand times, as if she had been my mother. 

n 


162 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Mab never left me — good, kind Mab ! — until I was in this 
lady’s arms, and then she stood upon the carriage step to kiss 
me and say good-bye, adding : 

“ ‘ What a wonderful, riddle you are, Aileen, to want to marry 
a poor architect, when you might have been a viscountess ! I 
give you up ; and what a still more wonderful riddle am I — 
to be able to run away, and not to do it ! But I gave myself 
up long ago.’ 

“ Before I could speak for crying she was gone, her dark dress 
soon lost sight of among the trees, and we were dashing down 
the rutty road as fast as the horses could take us. 

“Two days afterwards I was married in London by special 
leave of that darling old archbishop, who must know, I think, 
what true love means — perhaps Gerald told him — and feel sorry 
for poor girls whose parents are hard upon them. And I hope 
he’s got a good wife of his own, and daughters to stroke his 
dear old face and pat his kind old cheeks. I asked Gerald the 
other day to let me work him a pair of slippers or something 
just to show my gratitude, but he only laughed and wouldn’t 
let me. 

“ And this is all, Charley. Or, not all ; but if you want to 
know the rest, you must come to Clapham to hear it. And you 
needn’t be afraid of ghosts from the churchyard opposite, for 
Margery has hung an old horseshoe inside the house door, and 
she says it would be a bold ghost to pass that. And I was go- 
ing to say that I haven’t a trouble in the world, but I have — let 
me see how many — why, four. First and worst, that Gerald has 
got to be away a whole fortnight in Switzerland about that 
Moloch of a business. Second, that maybe you won’t forgive 
me. Third, that I haven’t found any very clever man yet to run 
away with Mabel. Fourth, that the viscount will pinch Florry, 
for he has long white fingers that look exactly as if they could 
pinch. Oh, and there’s a fifth — I’m not yet such a good house- 
keeper as I should like to be, and tried to make a pudding yes- 
terday, and it was spoiled, and I can’t help thinking that Mar- 
gery went into the pantry to hide that she was laughing when 
it stuck to the dish, till I shook it out in pieces on the floor. 
She made a terrific clattering there, but I’m sure I heard a gig- 
gle. So I suppose people always must huve tl^eir troubles, eveif 
^hen they ur.e inailied* 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


163 


“ These five blots are five kisses. Margery made five at the 
bottom of her letter to her sweetheart, and I thought it such a 
good idea. I don’t disdain to learn even from a servant. Ger- 
ald says we may learn something from everybody. 

“Good-bye again. I wonder if you ever will come to Clap- 
ham. Don’t mind if Margery seems rather rude. She isn’t ac- 
customed to visitors, and always thinks they come to steal. I’ve 
tried to talk her out of it, but I can’t. 

“ Good-bye, and now it’s for the last time, rea%.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Peter’s nick. 

“ De Nicolas je ne veux pas 
Faire un pompeux eloge ; 

Ne craignez pas, que d’ici-bas 
Par mon zele il deloge : 

Car si je faisais son portrait, 

Fidfelement et trait pour trait, . 

Le ciel bientot nous I’oterait 
Pour en faire un apotre ; 

II vaut bien mieux, que dans ces lieux 
Nicolas soit le notre.” 

I DID not see my new brother-in-law after all. 

I had started to go down to the village, when, looming gigan- 
tic through a dense fog, I saw a stalwart figure approaching me. 
As it came nearer, I saw that it was Peter’s Nick. 

But changed, oh, so changed ! As he stood facing me, the 
thick fog enveloping him from head to foot, dripping from his 
light hair and short, stubbly beard, hanging in minute drops 
upon his pale eyelashes, every nerve within me told me that he 
was come in wrath. 

He spoke no word. Indeed, I think he could not, for his 
broad chest was heaving, and out of his usually pale, mild eye, 
as if the fog were fuel to it, sprang hot sparks of flame and ire. 

“ Have you come from the village 2” I asked, to break the 
menacing silence. 

“Yes, r ' - ' 


164 


THROUGH LOVE Xa LIFE. 


He breathed heavily as he answered me, and slightly clenched 
the fist of his powerful right hand. Of which signs and tokens 
I took careful notice. 

“ Do you know if Monsieur Moppert has returned from Lu- 
cerne ?” 

It was ridiculous to note how much deadly venom we both 
contrived to infuse into our commonplace words. Through 
mine rang this: “Does the country lout think to arraign me 
before the bar of his narrow understanding ?” Through his : 
“ I’ve got my fists, and mean to use them.” 

“ Yes, Herre.” 

“ Do you know when ?” 

“ Yesterday evening in the diligenqe.” 

“ Was he alone ?” And my voice was choked with anger. 

“ Mademoiselle Therese was not with him,” answered Pe- 
ter’s Nick, accompanying his words with a sound like a mad- 
dened bull’s first low bellow of defiance. “ Tell me why not, 
Herre.” 

“ Stand back,” I cried ; “ do you think I’ll answer questions 
with your fist under my nose ? You’ve been drinking too early, 
and it has muddled you. Go back to your pots.” 

My insulting words produced as much effect upon him as a 
few smart slaps might do to one suffering intense internal pain. 
They were, if anything, a relief. Their petty sting acted as a 
momentary counter-irritation. The angry flush on his low fore- 
head, which this morning seemed to have acquired new breadth, 
faded somewhat; his eyes, elongated by the new weight upon 
them, grew round again ; his horny fist unclenched itself ; his 
wide nostrils, which, if they could not quiver, could unequivocal- 
ly snort, ceased this exhibition of bucolic wrath, and he grew 
calmer. 

“ Horen Sie* mal, Herre he said ; “ I’m not drunk, and you 
don’t think I am, but I’m all abroad in the fog. And my right 
hand burns, as it never burned before, to strike. It keeps clench- 
ing itself ; I can’t help it.” 

“ Take care what you strike,” I replied, still all ablaze, “ or 
you may get your blows returned with interest.” 

“ I’m willing to take my chance of that,” he answered, “ only 
I think ” — and he looked at his mighty palm wdth a griflj §iuUq 
I thiukj Herre, that I ghall strike the harder,” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


165 


“ Go back to your pots,” I said again, “ or you’ll get into a 
devil of a mess.” 

“ I won’t forget my pots, Herre,” he answered, with dignity, 
“though it seems to me that that is my master’s business and 
not yours.” 

“ Well, stand aside,” I said, “ and let me pass. I have neither 
time nor inclination to stay here any longer.” 

“ But I have time and inclination to make you, Herre. There 
is something I must hear from you before you go any farther — 
something you must explain to me.” 

He placed himself, a strong living barrier, between me and 
the narrow footpath leading down the hill, and stood waiting. 

My pride, stung to the quick by these words and the accom- 
panying action, rushed to a mad alternative. I sprang forward 
and struck him with all my force a furious blow. 

But, still weakened and enfeebled from my long illness, the 
violence of the reaction, not any deed of his, for he stood as im- 
movable as the everlasting rocks around, made me stagger like 
a drunken man. I reeled heavily, and should have fallen, felled 
by my own blow, but that he caUght and saved me. 

“ Herre,” he said, in a voice now as gravely gentle as if I had 
been a wayward child whom he loved, “ I had forgotten how weak 
you are. Sit down here and rest a moment. I should be a base 
coward to strike you now, but you must hear me all the same.” 

He supported me to the stone bench outside the Schenke and 
sat down beside me. He did this unconsciously ; he never had 
done so before and never did it afterwards — to-day he was not 
my inferior, but my judge. 

“ You see, Herre,” he said, “ I’ve never had any book-learning. 
I only know how to read, and how to write my name, and that’s 
not much. And I’m not given to Gruheleien. My wife is. She 
has all sorts of fancies. It seems to me women mostly have. 
Fancies she’s going to die if she gets a headache ; fancies our 
BuVs going straight to the bad if he’s a bit wilful ; fancies I’m 
going to kill him if I correct him ; fancies I’m going to spoil 
him if I don’t ; fancies our cottage is on fire when we are both 
comfortable in bed ; fancies Mademoiselle Therese is getting too 
high to notice her ; fancies that the English milord up at Gutsch 
will bring no luck to the old house harboring him.” 

As he turned his slow eyes slowly on mine, and I saw the ef- 


166 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


fort he was making to quicken their power of comprehension, I 
could not help fancying, in my turn, that if his wife had been 
there to give birth to a new fancy — to wit, that my face looked 
very much like conscious guilt — there would have been no want 
of food on which to rear it. 

“But the fancies mostly come to nothing, Ilerre, except to 
worry us when there’s no other trouble handy to do it, so I got 
to thinking little about them until — ” 

“ Until when ?” He waited so long that I was forced to prompt 
him. 

“ Well, Herre, things come into my mind so slow that you’d 
think they’d never come at all ; but, when they do, they stick. 
They stick so that I can’t get rid of them anyhow, and that last 
fancy of my wife’s has got into my head, and won’t get out 
again. 

“ I went to see my old teacher, old Joachim Spritmeier, a few 
days ago,” he continued, “ the one who beat the learning into 
me. Mademoiselle Therese had sent me to take him some muf- 
flers she had knitted to keep his poor old rheumatic hands warm 
during the winter, and I thought perhaps if I told him about this 
new fancy, he might help me. ‘ Ah,’ he said, putting on the muf- 
flers, ‘ it was time I gave up being village schoolmaster with my 
hands like this. I can teach as well as ever,’ he said ; * my brain 
is not rheumatic, but my hands are worn out. And what is a 
schoolmaster fit for,’ he said, ‘ when he can’t handle the cane V 

“ * You were a rare one for that,’ I answered ; ‘ my back tingles 
now at the sight of you.’ 

“ ‘Wee, Junge, wee,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t so bad as that, surely. 
Though I remember it was hard work getting the alphabet into 
thee. It cost me a heap of trouble.’ 

“ ‘ It cost you a new cane for every letter,’ I said, laughing, 
‘ for you broke one over me at each in turn, except at O ; some- 
how or other O looked familiar to me.’ ” 

His round face at this moment, with its flat and formless 
features, its pale eyelashes, and its smooth, uniform vacuity, 
looked so exactly like a magnified O that I burst out laughing. 

“ And well it might,” I said. 

“ But they stuck, Herre,” he continued, gravely, after a very 
momentary participation in my mirth ; “ they stuck like leeches. 
They’re every one of them in my head now, from A to Z. But 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


167 


I still remember O the best of all. Why, I was forced to say it 
over and over with every one of them.” 

^‘Did Joachim Spritmeier teach you to believe in fancies?” I 
asked. 

“ No, Herre. His teaching was more fitted for the likes of 
us — hard facts, and harder blows to drive them in us. That was 
why I took my fancy to him, to make a fact of, or beat out of 
me.” 

“ What did he say, Nick ?” 

“ He didn’t say I was a fool, Herre. I wish he had. I wish 
he had been able to take his old cane and break it over my back, 
if so be he could have beaten it out of me. But he only shook 
his head, and told me the next time it came not to drive it away, 
but look it full in the face and make it give an account of itself.” 

“ And have you found out, Nick, what it had to say ?” 

“ I have come here this morning to settle that forever,” he 
answered, grimly. 

“ Nick, believe me, it is as baseless as the fancies of your good 
wife, and fit for nothing but to worry you.” 

“ It is good for that,” he said, “ at all events. I dream about 
it night and day — I who never used to dream at all. And I see 
horrible things. I see an angel, trodden into the dirt at my 
feet, and lying there worse than dead. 

■ “ Nick, these are the fancies of fever. You are ill.” 

And I see,” he went on doggedly, “ a creature like a man, 
young and handsome, yet full of wicked thought and wicked de- 
sire. And I seem to know that he has murdered the bright 
angel, and that I must murder him. 

“And I see,” he continued, silencing me with an energetic 
movement, “ I see him dead, too, and my hands are red with blood, 
and God is gone from me.” 

His voice had sunk into a hoarse murmur. The sweat stood 
thick upon his brow. 

“ Oh, the fancy !” he said, “ the horrible fancy which looks up 
at me out of every pot I drink ; which poisons every morsel I 
eat ; which glares at me out of your eyes, Herre ; which even — 
oh, my God ! — hangs dark and heavy over the dear eyes of 
Mademoiselle Therese ! 

“ So this morning, Herre, when I heard that she had not come 
back with Monsieur Moppert ; when I heard from Fleurette how 


168 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


she went away ; when I saw you coming down the hill, smiling 
a smile of triumph as it seemed, the fog turned to blood all 
about me. And if you hadn’t struck me, why then — ” 

You would have done a foul wrong, Nick.” 

“ Perhaps that’s why the dear God saved us both, and let you 
strike me,” said he, “ for that blow, which wouldn’t have hurt a 
baby, made me feel what a coward I should be to fight you. But 
you must make things clear to me now — you must tell me now. 
You must tell me what you have been doing and what you mean 
to do. 

“ Of what do you suspect me ?” I inquired, somewhat haugh- 
tily. The thought of the blow that “ wouldn’t hurt a baby ” 
chafed and irritated me. That he should set himself up to be 
my lawgiver chafed me still more. A suspicion that his passion- 
ate interference was due to something my pride hated to believe 
chafed me most of all. 

Perhaps Peter’s Nick divined my thoughts, for his answer went 
straight to the root of my angry suspicion and struck it dead. 

“ Herre, before I tell you that, I must make certain that you 
understand me. You must not fancy things that are not meant ; 
you must not think that I — Let me put it in another way, or 
I shall never be able to tell you.” 

Was Peter’s Nick blushing, or was it the red sunlight now 
peering at us over a heap of clouds ? The fog was falling fast ; 
soon we should have glorious weather. 

“See, Herre,” he said ; “ I want to make you understand how 
differently I feel towards Mademoiselle Therese to what I should 
do to any other Mddel. She’s made of different stuff to us, and 
we all felt it even when she was in the cradle. I was a great 
hulking lad then, always in trouble because my limbs would 
grow out of the clothes covering them, and the little one would 
cry sometimes when I was beaten. And when she grew bigger 
I used to carry her about huck-a-pack. I can feel her soft little 
arms round my neck still, and sometimes she would touch my 
cheek with her lips — ^mine, great, ugly, stupid Nick’s. Little 
children are like the dear God himself in one way — they see 
through the coarse outside right to the faithful heart. 

“Herre, I wonder sometimes whether up there” — and he 
turned his face towards the sky, from which the clouds were 
fast dispersing — “ she’ll forget once more the difference between 


THUOUGII LOVE TO LIFE. 169 

US and touch my face again. But, whether or no, bless her for 
the past, bless her for it !” 

“ Ay, bless her !” I murmured. 

“ So, Herre, I never dreamed — I would not have dared even in 
my inmost soul to think of her as a Freier. I want you to un- 
derstand that perfectly. It may save trouble. I’ve got a good 
wife of my own at home ; a hard-working lass she was when I 
married her, and she’s a hard worker still. She’s like Brei^ whole- 
some porridge, flavored with salt, not with sugar, and none too 
good for every-day eating. That’s the sort of wife a poor man 
wants as a helpmate in his cottage. 

“ I’ve got a child, too — a little lad of the same sort as father 
and mother ; none too beautiful to be scolded as well as loved ; 
punished as well as caressed. I love them both, and am angry 
with them both sometimes. I’m a heap bigger than either of 
them and a heap stronger, and I feel they ought to mind me 
and to look up to me. 

“ The wife’s got to rough it with me, and to bear a bit of 
roughness from me without making a mountain out of a mole- 
hill, or thinking an angry word is a sure sign of a faithless heart ; 
and ray Bub's got to do my bidding. I love them both, and should 
fret sore if I lost either of them, yet if I go home to-day and the 
Suppe's not ready, or oversalted, I shall scold a bit ; and if my 
little Nick’s ungezogen^ I shall let him feel that my hand can 
hurt as well as guard him, for that’s my duty. 

“ And I like to have it so,” he continued, after a momentary 
pause ; “ I choose to have it so. The husband is the head of 
the wife, and children must obey their parents. I work hard 
for them, deny myself for their sakes, and if any one ventured 
to say aught against them or do them harm, I’d fight the whole 
village in their defence. But at home I like to feel myself a bit 
above them ; to know that, though elsewhere I am servant, there I 
am Herr as well as husband and father ; that they look up to me, 
and respect me as a ruler, who only rules, though, for their good. 

“ And it seems to me that that’s how it ought to be, and that 
God meant it so.” 

Was I dreaming, or was it really Nick talking? — round-eyed, 
obtuse Peter’s Nick, who, I had always thought, neither possessed 
two ideas of his own, nor wit enough, even if he had, to put the 
two together. He went on : 


170 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ But, Herre, I am glad, I am proud to look up to Mademoiselle 
Therese, as proud as I am to bow down before the high altar, 
and worship there upon my bended knees a woman and a child. 
Yet listen, Herre ; pay heed to what I say, for God knows I 
mean it: if any one, and were he a brother of the great Em- 
peror of Austria, should do anything to destroy my faith, or 
stain the snow-white flower reared upon our mountains, I should 
forget everything but that I am strong.” 

His downward glance again upon his giant hands and sinewy 
arms was a strange compound of pride and pain and ire. Then 
we both sat silent, as insensible to the glorious beauty of the 
scene before us as if we had been blind. 

“ It would be impossible ” — with these words I at last broke 
the painful silence — “for me to pretend to misunderstand you 
any longer, Nick. It would be absurd to do so. But, before 
entering on my defence, let me perform a simple act of restitu- 
tion and honesty. You have shown yourself to me in a new 
and unexpected light to-day, Nick. You have forced me to ad- 
mire and respect the man who has profoundly humbled me. I 
do not ask you to take my hand — it is not worthy to clasp yours ; 
but I do ask you with all my heart, Nick, I do ask you to for- 
give me.” 

The tears were in my eyes; and if they were not dazzling 
me, I am sure I saw answering drops in his, as, full of surprise, 
he turned them towards me. 

“ How would you feel, Nick,” I continued, “ if you had lost a 
priceless jewel, and another man, whom you had despised and 
outraged, should risk his life to save and restore it to you? 
How would you feel, Nick, to that man ?” 

“ Herre, I — I — ” he stammered. 

“ You do not understand,” I said, “ but you shall, Nick. Add 
one iota to the mighty debt of gratitude I owe you. Tell me, 
when did the fancy first come ?” 

“ Herre, I am beginning to think — another fancy is coming — ” 

“ Open your arms wide to take in the God-sent stranger, Nick. 
Clasp it to your wounded bosom ; let the balm of its divine pres- 
ence heal and comfort you.” 

“ Herre, I am dreaming, or I have been all wrong.” 

“ No, Nick ; all right, old fellow ! Do you think God lets 
such as you go astray? You fancied yourself on the road to 


'THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


171 


murder, when it was the road to life. Murderers have been 
training themselves for the final deed, Nick, all their sinful lives ; 
the last step is the inevitable one of a long and tortuous road 
they have wilfully chosen.” 

Where did all the wisdom spring from? — perhaps from my 
profound happiness. Oh, I had been sharply pruned, but the 
new grafts were slowly taking root, already putting forth tiny 
buds, filled with a nobler sap, instinct with higher life, pregnant 
with promise ! 

“ Herre,” said Peter’s Nick, “ I am in the fog still, but it is 
falling thick around me, and above it I seem to see light.” 

“ So do I, Nick, so do I.” 

“ Light which, if it’s not deceiving me, will soon be brightest 
sunshine.” 

“ Ay, Nick, alter Junge. And now tell me when the fancy 
first came and what it looked like.” 

“ But if it was an Irrlicht, Herre, better try to forget it.” 

“ Even Irrlichter^ Nick, ignes fatui^ spring from truth, buried 
somewhere in the marshes. Tell me, guter Nick, when the fancy 
came.” 

For my longing soul was thirsting for the nectar of renewed 
assurance. Who ever wearies of love ? Who does not love to 
hear that he is loved ? 

“ It came,” said Nick, slightly smiling — (a great deal of what 
I said was incomprehensible to the simple fellow, but his heart, 
a thousand times keener than his intellect, his heart began to 
understand me) — “ it came, Herre, soon after you did. It came 
with a change in Mademoiselle Therese which nobody seemed 
to notice but me, not even her father. I couldn’t help but see 
it, though, if I’d been asked to describe it, I should have been, 
as I am now, sorely puzzled.” 

“ Try, try, Nick.” 

“ I am trying, Herre. I think, it was her smile first that al- 
tered. It wasn’t quite so bright, I think, and yet sweeter.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ Tears had got into her smile, Herre, and something else had 
got into hgr merry laugh. As for her eyes, I wonder even now 
that no one else saw the change in them.” 

“ What was it like, Nick ?” 

“ Herre, how can I tell you what it was like, when no words 


172 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE, 


could do it ? I saw something of the same look in the eyes of 
my own wife when we first put her little Bub into her arms. 
So sweet and full of wonder, Herre ; so beautiful, and yet I 
could not bear to look. For though the tears were smiles, the 
smiles were tears, too.” 

He looked searchingly into my face, as if to note the effect 
of his words. I suppose what he saw there satisfied him, for he 
went on, more cheerfully : 

“ Sometimes she would come out of your room, Herre, hardly 
seeming to feel the ground she trod on. Then I would stand 
aside to let her pass, for I knew that we were all nothing to her 
— all forgotten. Sometimes she would come out with death in 
her face, and then I would draw nearer, my heart burning hot 
with the longing to murder the man who had murdered her joy, 
and my faith along with it.” 

Was it sublimest happiness or intensest pain contracting my 
heart ? Oh, the boundary line between the two is but a hair’s- 
breadth, the climax of one close touching the other ! 

“ And now, Herre, that is all.” 

“ Not quite all, Nick.” And here I whispered something low 
into his ear. 

I shall never forget the terrific grasp with which Nick’s two 
mighty hands almost reduced mine to a shapeless mass, after he 
had convinced himself that my whispered words were a true in- 
dex to my heart. It has made me shy ever since of offering 
the hand of fellowship to giants. He put his mark upon me 
that day, did honest Nick. He drew blood. But he poured 
me out in return a full draught of nectar. My thirsty soul 
drank deep and long, and I too “ was satisfied.” 

Warm and bright and full, the sunshine streamed down upon 
the earth ; and the tear-drops, still heavy on the lids of the wood- 
flowerets, smiled back a beaming response. Over the tops of 
the trees beyond Giitsch not a breath of air was stirring, and 
the birds’ sweet minor faltered, as if in awed recognition of a 
diviner song than theirs. Deep, profound, intense was the peace 
around and within me, and with Goethe I sang : 

“ Over the mountains 
Turmoils cease ; 

The murmuring fountains 
Whisper peace. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


173 


Hardly a breath 

In the wood, where the birds sing low : 
Patience, and thou this peace shalt know 
Certain as death.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

MY MOTHER THE WIND. 

“ in such hour 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired,” 

Wordsworth {Excursion). 

“ Wenn im Menschen Friede und Fiille sind, so will er nichts mehr genies- 
sen, als sich ; jede Bewegung, sogar die kdrperliche, verschiittet den vollen 
Nektarkelch.” — Jean Paul. 

Peter’s Nick had long since returned to his work in the 
Schenhe; William too passed me with a grave yet kindly greet- 
ing ; and I still sat upon the stone bench outside the house, with 
the warm sunlight full upon me, lost to everything but a pro- 
found sense of peace — rest after toil — ease after pain — victory 
after defeat. At such moments life pauses: our senses grow 
misty ; the newly oiled machinery of our incessantly active brain 
moves with imperceptible softness ; happiness, long vainly wooed, 
turns smiling towards us — not as a wayward mistress, whose 
caresses madden while they enthral, but with the self-abnegating 
tenderness of a mother. Instead of exciting, she calms our 
fevered pulses, and soothes us into perfect rest upon her gently 
beating bosom ; where, like convalescent children, we forget the 
suffering which is over, forget even that we are happy for very 
happiness. 

But life never halts long, neither under “double loads” nor 
when all load is taken off us. The order to march comes, alas ! 
too often when rest is at its sweetest. “ Didst hear the bugle, 
brother ? See, I will help thee get again into harness, and thou 
wilt help me. Here is thy knapsack; let me. strap it on again 
— a rude but efficient pad over the raw spot where the leather 
galled thee. Thy bottle is filled from the sparkling spring, and 
ther<? is fresh bread in thy wallet. Courage ! we shall rest agaiii 


174 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


ere night, and dream of the blessed time when, our duty bravely 
done, we shall rest for aye. Courage, brother ! we were born to 
fight and work, shoulder to shoulder, helping and loving one an- 
other.” 

The so-called inferior animals — let us hope, let us believe — 
have such periods often and long ; to man, with a brain which 
must analyze, must logically prove that sweet is sweet, instead 
of simply tasting it, such moments are as rare as they are fleet- 
ing. Like a sweet odor wafted direct from heavenly reared flow- 
ers, they salute us on their passage, but that is all. Like a drop 
of ambrosia, they touch our yearning lips to teach us to believe 
in heaven ; but who has tasted many such drops ? 

I was aroused from my trance in an unexpected and startling 
manner. A little elfish hand, cold as ice, was suddenly laid upon 
mine, and my raised eyes met a pair of elfish ones, which were 
examining me from top to toe with a keen and curious intent- 
ness. I was too amazed to speak, and for a few moments this 
creature or being scrutinized me, and I it, in silence. 

The elfish hand belonged to a body more elf-like still, and 
for a second or two I was really unable to determine whether it 
were that of a child or woman, or of an unknown animal clothed 
to represent one of these. 

It wore the short Swiss petticoat, falling slim and straight in 
scanty folds from the waist to the knees — its bare legs and feet, 
though brown as a berry and hairy as an animal’s, as beautiful 
in form and shape as Therese’s own. It wore, tightly laced 
over its meagre bosom, the scarlet bodice of Swiss girlhood ; 
leaving shoulders and throat bare like hers, though with a dif- 
ference. 

With a difference as immense as the distance between pole 
and equator. Here were no bewildering dimples in the velvety 
softness of perfect flesh, here no ivory unblemished roundness 
to ravish and delight ; one felt inclined rather to close one’s out- 
raged eyes to the horrible deformity, to protest in the interests 
of indignant humanity against its exposure. If such things ex- 
ist, let them, in the name of our fineness of feeling — our aesthet- 
icism — let them be covered ! 

For, entirely filling up the cavity between chin and breast, as 
shamelessly exposed to view as if it had been — good heavens ! 
oroaniQiitj bung an unsightly bag of flesh— hung, did } 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


175 


say ? — no, danced, moved, vibrated, brimful apparently of a hor- 
rible life of its own, even when its unfortunate owner was passive. 

I knew what it was, though I shuddered as if it had been the 
first time I had seen it — the goitre, the scourge of lovely Switz- 
erland, the terrible penalty many have to pay for living among 
the mountains. I had turned away sickened eyes from the sight 
often enough in the Rhone Valley, a very hotbed for its cultiva- 
tion, though never here before in healthier Schwyz. 

An angel’s face would have been rendered odious by such a 
termination, and the face upon which my fascinated eyes were 
resting was by no means an angel’s. I should have been inclined 
to descend among a very different race of beings to find its pro- 
totype. Yet it had an undeniable attraction of its own. The 
brow, tanned to a coloring more animal than human, was already 
corrugated, the cheeks sunken, the full lips pallid ; but the*eyes 
were vividly beautiful, their irises large and richly colored, the 
thick brows above them finely arched, and their black lashes 
long and curled. Over' the back of this creature fell, nearly to 
its ankles, the greatest quantity of hair I ever saw on human 
head — hair of a deep red, and flaming in the golden sun-rays 
like living fire. 

“ Ugh,” said she, the opening of her large-lipped mouth dis- 
closing a perfect set of teeth, white and sharp as a puppy’s — 
letting her wonderful eyes run over me from head to foot sev- 
eral times in succession, during which their irises repeatedly 
changed color, and were now of a deep red brown, now of a 
vivid green, now more black than their pupils — “ you are odious. 
You are a devil. I detest you.” 

Whether she was addressing me or making of herself a mouth- 
piece for my thoughts, I cannot tell. I only know she might 
have read her words on my forehead or sucked them from my 
lips. Involuntarily I raised my hand to ward her off, as if she 
had been in very truth a demon. 

Then I saw that she was but mortal, for she was evidently 
accustomed to blows. She sprang back a step, lightly enough, 
and covered her elfish head with her elfish hands. 

“ I am not going to strike you.” 

“ You’d better not, or I’ll tell my mother.” 

This remark was so commonplace and SQ childlike that J 
smiled ^t pay own vague fw» 


176 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Who is your mother ?” I said, fear making room for pity, as 
I put my hand into my trousers pocket for a franc. 

The answer was a startling one : 

“The Wind.” 

“ The Wind ? What do you mean, imp ?” 

“ Have you never seen her, Herre ? ’St !” — lifting an uncanny 
finger — “ she is sleeping now in the wood ; you can only just 
hear her breathe if you listen softly. The birds know she is 
asleep, and dare not sing for fear of waking her ; the water 
knows it too, and is dimpling all over with smiles, because no 
one can drive away its lovers, the sunbeams, until she awakes. 
See how straight and still the trees stand around her, holding 
their green umbrellas wide to shield her from the sunshine ; not 
even a saucy leaflet dares to rustle, or, pouf ! she would tear it 
off and drown it in the lake.” 

“ Child — if child you are — who put such thoughts into your 
head?” 

“ S-st ! S-st ! Herre, speak low, as I do, or maybe she will 
awake and punish you. When she is angry, all the world is 
frightened; her eyes flash red light, and her voice is terrible. 
The earth trembles, and the mountains shake ; even the great 
sky itself grows pale as death, and the water turns raving mad. 
For she drives everything before her, and those that will not run 
or bend are beaten to death.” 

“Maiden, thou art inspired, or possessed, or a poet in a 
strange garb.” I spoke smiling, to hide something — not a 
smile. 

“ Herre, you may mock, because you are both blind and wick- 
ed ; but, though your false mouth laughs, there is no laugh in 
your eye. Your eye is afraid, for it would like to see, and can- 
not. But my mother, the Wind, knows all about you and the 
wickedness in your heart, and she bound a rod for you long ago. 
I mean to come when she uses it, and listen to your cries, and 
laugh to think how little they will help you — for I hate you, I 
hate you !” 

“ What have I ever done to make you hate me ?” 

“ Oh, the rod is thick and strongly bound, and every sharp 
twig will sting you like the forked tongue of a serpent. My 
mother wanted to drown you in the lake, but I begged her to 
spare you, I did not know you then, for I was blind and fool- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 177 

ish, but I know you now — white outside, black within — and I hate 
you, 1 hate you !” 

“ Imp, tell me why.’’ 

“ I saw a drop that looked like water, Herre, in a dear eye, 
out of which nothing but love ever shone before, even for me, 
who have nobody else to love but my mother, the Wind. Yet, 
though the drop looked like clearest water, it was bitter, bitter, 
bitter, as the bitterest juice of the most poisonous flower in the 
wood, and it had been pressed out of a bleeding wound ; and, 
oh, I am afraid it will put out the light of tlfe dear eye, and 
poison the love within it — and I hate you, I hate you !” 

I could not see the strange, weird face, for something had de- 
stroyed my vision. I could not ask again why she hated me, for 
something was holding tight the strings of my voice, and to 
speak would have been to break them. 

“ Oh, I like to see my mother in a rage,” continued the child, 
her low voice full of fierce enthusiasm, “ for, though she hurts 
everything else in the world, she never hurts me. I like to see 
her tear up the obstinate trees, which won’t go down on their 
knees before her, to lash the vain and fickle water with. I like 
to hear everything shriek and howl when she beats it. But I 
like most of all — oh, I love my mother best then — to see her 
creep slyly in through the keyhole, to nip and bite and pinch 
old Madame Sauerwein, till her groans frighten the neighbors. 
People say it is the rheumatism, but I know better — I know it 
is my mother, the Wind.” 

A sharp voice, issuing through an opening window, came to 
my relief. It was the voice of Fleurette. 

“ MiescheUy was machst du da 

Again a backward spring, again an elfish hand before an elf- 
ish head. Mieschen’s world was evidently accustomed to adopt 
summary measures for the disciplining of Mieschen’s peculiar- 
ities. 

“ Mach^ dass du fort hommst^ TeufelshrutP 

“ Thy Muhme sent me — ” 

“ I’ll be bound she did, and also that she’ll send thee some- 
where else when thou gets back again.” 

“ With a message for the English milord.” 

Give it then and depart, or I’ll see if there isn’t a stick — ” 

“Oh, my mother shall hurt thee for it, muttered the child; 

12 


178 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ she shall get into thy throat and make it sore ; or into thy 
eyes and make them water ; or into thy back, with a Hexen- 
schuss, hard as iron and sharp as steel.” 

“ If the great Council at Berne hadn’t done away with the 
law — a good and necessary law — which would have subjected 
such as thee to ‘ the question,’ ” said Fleurette, who, not having 
heard a word of the child’s vindictive speech, naturally con- 
strued it into a worse form than the original, “thou’d have 
learned to keep thy wickedness to thyself, for fear of broken 
limbs and tortifred members. But they’ll have to go back to 
the good old laws yet, made for the safety of honest folk, will 
the learned gentlemen. Thou’lt yet end upon a Scheiterhaufen^ 
child of sin.” , 

“ It was my mother made thee deaf,” continued the unfortu- 
nate child ; “ she got into thy ears one winter’s night and killed 
the hearing in them. Soon she’ll get into thy wicked eyes and 
make them blind.” 

“ Herre, ask her what she wants,” said Fleurette, crossing her- 
self ; “ who knows but she’s got the power to do wickedness, as 
well as the will ; maybe she’ll tell you and go.” 

“ What do you want of me, child ?” I inquired. 

“ The Frenchman has come back,” she answered, turning her 
strange eyes upon me once more, while the horrible appendage 
to her chin shook and treinbled. 

“ I know that.” 

“ But he is not coming to see you, nor must you come to see 
him to-day.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Because to-day he has prettier fish than you to fry.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Sunshine -haired fish, summer -sky -eyed fish, snow-white 
fish.” 

“ Tell me this moment.” 

“ Sleeping fish, weeping fish, not keeping fish.” 

“ Speak plainly, and I’ll give you a franc to buy bonbons.” 

“ Let me see it, then,” with a quick change of manner. 

The next moment I was alone on the stone bench, minus the 
franc ; at my ear the echo of a mocking voice, saying : “ Ask 
Fleurette, deaf Fleurette, angry Fleurette, who’d give her best 
gown to be able to beat me, but is afraid of my mother, the 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


1V9 


Wind and gleams of tawny locks vanishing before my eyes, 
all ablaze in the red sunlight like living flames of Are. 

Truly, “the female form divine” had revealed itself to me in 
strangely varying forms in Switzerland. Therese — oh, my The- 
rese, art thinking of me now ? art feeling my spiritual presence 
in one fibre of thy Herzchen^ in anything like the intensity with 
which every nerve and tissue of my body is impregnated with 
thine ? How could I give thee up, when thou hast subtly in- 
sinuated thy essence into the life-blood of my system; when our 
souls are already joined together in holy matrimony ; no more 
— never more — two, but one, for time and for eternity ? 

I had forgotten what I meant to say. What matters it? 
What matters anything to me now except my love ? Thou wast 
right, Goethe — man whom we forgive so much because of thy 
grand legacy. Thou wast right ! For the first time I compre- 
hend thy words : “ Es ist eine Forderung der Natur^ dass der 
Mensch mitunter betdubt werde^ ohne zu schlafeny 

With the beloved name upon my lips — bugle sound and 
sweetest opiate at once — I sank anew into a glad syncope — into 
the sublime intoxication of love. 

And the universe composed for me a new melody ; soothed 
me into rest with the sweetest song man ever heard. And its 
name, its theme, its tune, were all Therese ! 


CHAPTER XXX. 

TAKEN TO TASK. 

“ Warum erkennt es denn das Mannergeschlecht nicht, dass die Liebende in 
der Stunde der Liebe ja nichts weiter thun will, als Alles fiir den Geliebten, 
dass die Frau fur die Liebe alle Krafte, gegen sie so kleine hat, und dass sie 
mit derselben Seele und in derselben Minute eben so leicht ihr Leben hingabe, 
als ihre Tugend ? Und dass nur der fordernde und nehmende Theil schlecht 
sei, besonnen und selbstsiichtig ?” — Jean Paul. 

As the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet had 
to go to the mountain ; we all know that. And we all know, 
perhaps, quite as well, how very often we ourselves have been 
compelled to adopt the same humiliating expedient. In spite 
of my impatience, Moppert did not come, and finally I had to 
go and seek him. In obedience to the strange child’s message, I 


180 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


waited that day, but rose very early the next morning, unable 
to wait longer. 

I hurried down the hill. Impatience drove her sharp spur 
into mo, and I hurried faster and faster. For I was hungering, 
thirsting, dying for news of Therese. 

I had no difficulty in finding out the house of Madame Sauer- 
wein, where my friend lodged, although I had never been there 
before, and soon I was standing at the door, rapping loudly. 

My impatient rap was answered, or rather echoed, by several 
other raps on an apparently sentient body which resented them 
by smothered mutterings — not cries. Virtuous Indignation, in- 
stantly assuming the office of a preux chevalier — it has a leaning 
that way — rushed into the room headlong, carrying me with it, 
and exploded on the spot. 

“ You ought to be ashamed,” I said, “ to beat a child.” 

But even with the word “ child ” upon my lips, I faltered, and 
all but changed it into “ monkey.” Then I saw that it was my 
singular acquaintance of the day before — the audacious claimant 
of the Wind’s affection, upon whom the cudgel of retribution was 
falling. It was Mieschen, who, taking advantage of my entrance, 
wriggled herself’ free from the grasp of an old woman, and fled 
for refuge behind a perfect mountain of a stove, from which 
place of sanctuary she menaced and mouthed, with the most 
horrible grimaces and the most admirable impartiality, both 
chastiser and rescuer. 

Virtuous Indignation, feeling probably very small after her fit 
of uncalled-for heroics, slunk out of the room ; even tender- 
hearted Pity drew back in disgust; and Justice, pointing to a 
pool of milk upon the floor, wherein lay swamped some broken 
fragments, said sternly : “ Look at that !” If ever imp in this 
world looked as if it wanted a whipping, that imp did. 

In the meantime the old woman, whom I rightly judged to 
be Madame Sauerwein herself, slowly hung up the cudgel, her 
own crutch, on the side of the chair whereon she was seated, 
and as slowly turned a pair of deeply set gray eyes on me. I 
remained standing — not being invited to sit — scrutinizing and 
scrutinized. 

I saw a woman of about sixty years of age, whose resolute 
face, moulded as massively as a man’s, was rendered still more 
masculine-looking by a snowy beard, over which her cap-strings 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


181 


were neatly tied. Her face, though hard-featured and deeply 
lined, was not without a certain manly comeliness, which, per- 
haps, in the bloom of her “ teens ” — hardly later — had been 
beauty. Her head was covered with a cap of white linen, stiffly 
starched and scrupulously clean. Crossed over her bosom was 
a snowy kerchief of the same material. Her short gray frieze 
gown just touched her ankles, and was carefully protected by a 
stout blue-checked apron. Her gouty feet rested on a wooden 
stool. Her gouty and swollen hands, half hidden in black mit- 
tens, had immediately taken up the inevitable knitting on laying 
down the stick. The sight of these hands inspired me with no 
small respect for their owner. I was confident that her recent 
exertion must have been attended with far more bodily pain to 
herself than to the child. I was confident that Madame Sauer- 
wein was a person of character. 

While making these observations I knew that Madame Sauer- 
wein was taking stock of me quite as intently. Her keen gray 
eyes, the huge horn-cased spectacles pushed up on her massive 
square forehead, were gradually becoming cognizant of every 
spot upon me. I began to grow bewildered. It seemed not 
minutes, but ages, that I^had been standing there, the low hum 
of the kettle in one of the many apertures of the stove growing 
louder, the vague mutterings and menaces of the child behind 
it growing fainter ; the white pool upon the tiled floor gradually 
becoming absorbed into its crevices ; a well-disciplined kitten 
furtively sniffing at it, but evidently conscious of consequences 
if it went further ; the nasal tick of the cuckoo-clock behind me 
like a snore ; the final “ Humph !” which issued from the mascu- 
linely adorned mouth of Madame Sauerwein. 

A doubtful “ Humph !” an insinuating “ Humph !” a very 
mortifying and humiliating “ Humph !” 

“ You think you are very wise, young gentleman,” she said, 
at last, in the deep guttural of the Swiss patois^ “ but you’ve a 
great deal to learn yet. Don’t you know that there are two 
sides to everything ?” 

If I looked as I felt, I must have looked foolish indeed. I 
sank into the chair, towards which with scant courtesy she point- 
ed. The child broke into an uncanny laugh. 

“ What are you come for ?” said the old woman. “ Who are 


182 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ The gentleman is drunk,” said the child, emerging from her 
hiding-place. 

! drunk, and only eight o’clock in the morning !” 

My astonishment at this assertion somewhat dissipated the 
maze in which my bewildered senses were wandering. The 
snoring clock behind repeated it in a series of convulsive sounds, 
like the voice of a cuckoo in agony awaking out of a horrible 
nightmare. It was really — for my own watch confirmed it — 
only eight o’clock in the morning. 

“/ know who he is,” continued the child, “ but I will not tell 
thee, Grossmutterchen^ because thou hast beaten me.” 

“ Beaten thee ! If I only had the power ! But I will ask the 
Herr Kaplan to come and drive the unclean spirit out of thee 
with a TauendeP 

“ He beat me once with a rope-end,” said the child in her 
peculiarly low yet sharply distinct accents — now absolutely dis- 
cordant, now as sweet and mournful as the birds’ own minor — 
“ and broke his leg afterwards. ’Twas in winter-time, and my 
mother’s sharp breath had frozen the water I threw before his 
door, and my mother’s maidens, the Zephyrs, had covered it thick 
with snow. Oh, he came out with his. eyes upturned as if the 
earth were hardly good enough for him to walk on, and im Nu^ 
there he lay, groaning and crying out for help. Hu, hu, hu ! 
how I laughed, and my mother with me ! ‘ Hu, hu, hu !’ it said, 

^Die^ welche Andere schlagen^ sollen auch geschlagen werderiy und 
die^ welche meinem Kinde Bosses thun^ sollen auch leiden."* Oh, 
I love her, I love her, my mother — the Wind !” 

“Do you hear, Herre?” said the old woman significantly. 
“ There are two sides to everything.” 

“ Soon she will come again, Grossmutterchen^ to nip thee and 
bite thee and scratch thee. Thou may’st call it the rheumatism, 
but it’s my mother’s sharp teeth, her fierce claws, her stinging 
Ruthe. And she does it all for love of me, my dear, dear moth- 
er — the Wind !” 

“ Go and fetch some more milk, Mieschen, for the kind French- 
man, who gives thee centimes. Go, and I will forgive thee.” 

“ Not yet; I will not go yet.” 

“ I’ve had ten children,” groaned the old woman, turning un- 
easily on her chair, “ ten lads and lasses, and not one of them 
would have ventured to say ‘ I will not ’ to me. Nor would they 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


183 


venture now that they are grown men and women, with lads and 
lasses of their own. Whatever else we leave untaught in Switzer- 
land, we teach our children to love their fatherland, obey its 
laws, and honor their parents. I’ve taken the Taumde to thy 
mother when she was a big wench in service with the Frau 
Grdfin^ selig^ and she stood to bear it, as still as if she had been 
but a helpless infant on my arm. It is only thou who ever ven- 
tured to defy me — Mddel, hated and loved for her sake — grand- 
child and none, in a breath.” 

She groaned again and shook her heavy head. 

“ But perhaps the gnddiger Herr (looking at me) will help a 
helpless old woman ; take my crutch and ein Bischen Deutsch 
mit dir sprechen (administer a little correction to thee).” 

“ If he does,” answered the child quickly, advancing towards 
my chair with a step light as a fawn’s, though the loathsome 
appendage to her chin took away effectually all idea of grace, 
“ he shall never see Therese again, never look upon her bonny 
face, or kiss her sweet lips any more.” 

I saw my involuntary start reflected in the old woman. I felt 
her eyes upon me with renewed interest, though I could not 
raise my own and fearlessly meet them. Again time seemed to 
stand still and lengthen a period of suspense indefinitely, as did 
once the moon, at Joshua’s behest, in the valley of Ajalon. 

The clock had stopped, too. Its nasal tick began again with 
the words which followed : 

“ Dost love Therese ?” said the child, her sharp elbows on my 
knee ; her sharp eyes, with their weird change of color, seeming 
to pierce mine ; her flexible voice cadenced to a tone of such pa- 
thetic sweetness as bird never knew ; “ dost mean to marry her ?” 

“ Ay, ay,” responded the old woman, in a deep guttural tone 
of approbation, “ that’s the question, Mieschen. That’s the touch- 
stone wherewith to try if the love’s of the right sort or not. I 
didn’t think so much sense had been in thee, child. But thou’lt 
get no answer. I put it to thy father : “ Dost mean to marry 
her ?” I said, and the only answer was a death and a birth cry, 
both strong enough to murder my heart. Ah, Mddel, die Manns- 

leut' die gnddigen Herren noch am wenigsten — lassen sick nicht 

zur Rede stellen. They govern the world, child, the wicked 
world, and won’t punish themselves. Go and fetch the milk, 
and don’t waste thy time any longer.” 


184 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


To my surprise the child made no further demur. As quietly 
and submissively as if obedience had been a necessity, she opened 
a cupboard door, took thence a jug, and sedately departed, leav- 
ing the old woman and myself alone together. 

“ I know who you are now,” said she, knitting industriously ; 
“ vou are the Englishman from Giitsch.” 

Yes.” 

“ And you have come to see Monsieur Moppert.” 

» Yes.” 

“ He is not here at present. He has business to attend to ; 
but he will be back by-and-by.” 

“ May I stay till he comes ?” 

“ Yes, you may stay, but you must not expect me to enter- 
tain you. I’m a poor lame old woman. There isn’t a joint in 
my body that doesn’t ache. And inside me my heart aches 
worst of all.” 

You have had much trouble ?” 

“ Trouble ? The dear God above us knows ! Ten lads and 
lasses, and a husband paralyzed ever since my youngest was a 
baby. My youngest, my Minchen — the bonniest lass in all the 
country side. Ever since I lost her I have prayed for nothing 
except that the dear God would take me, but he seems to have 
forgotten me altogether.” 

“ You have lost your daughter, then?” 

“ Lost her ? Yes, Herre, lost her in more than one way. Oh, 
it is a wicked, wicked world ! Yet I was happy in it once.” 

“ And it is a great thing to have been happy.” 

“ Is it, Herre? You are a boy, and I am an old woman and 
could teach you something, maybe, if you would listen to me. 
But you will not learn. I would not learn either, till the dear 
God took the rod and made me do so with stripes that are raw 
and bleeding still. Yet I was happy once. Oh me ! I was 
happy once, and thought the world was a sweet, green, shady 
nest for doves to coo in.” 

“ Tell me, when ?” 

“ When I was a lassie, Herre, whom you, perhaps, would 
have smiled upon, as well as all the other Mannsleut', So 
slim was my waist, it seemed made on purpose for a ’ sly arm 
to encircle ; so rosy were my lips, which the Buhen thought 
were only pouting and rounded for them to kiss. You may 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


185 


smile, Herre, but it is true, though I am an ugly old woman 
now.” 

“ I did not smile.” 

“ Not with your lips, Herre — but what matters it whether you 
believe me or no ? My Minchen was more beautiful still, more’s 
the pity and shame and disgrace ! So beautiful that — oh, how 
can I tell it ! how can I describe what went on in darkness and 
night when she was Kammermadchen of the Frau Grafin von 
Olenhusen, and me at home forgetting my trouble in joy at her 
being next door to a lady and made so much of by the great 
folk ? How can I tell you of the white bosom beating high with 
joy and hope when he put the sparkling jewels — his purchase- 
money — upon it, and the aching heart of gathering doubt be- 
neath ? Of the fair face, more beautiful than any lady’s, and 
the rage and despair and agony in the terraced walk on the dark 
night? Of the kisses and the honeyed words and the false 
vows? Of the farewell and the forgetting; and the midnight 
pond where Will-o’-the-wisps held the funeral torches, night- 
birds croaked, and snow-white lilies drew back shuddering from 
a dead human face, whiter than they ? Oh, ’tis a wicked, wicked 
world ! governed by men who make laws for their own advan- 
tage, crush the sufferer and uphold the sinner. Talk about the 
wind, as Mieschen does ! Oh, it and the pale moon could tell 
strange stories ! Go, I have no patience with you.” 

I half rose, hardly knowing whether she meant me or not, but 
was violently reseated by the vehemence of her next question. 

“Where’s the Mddel?' she said. 

“What 

“ Thdrese.” 

“ I do not know.” 

“You do not know? Why, then, do you tremble and turn 
away your'face, which is as red as a convicted sinner’s ?” 

“ You have no right to ask me. I did not come here to be 
questioned.” 

“ Ah, I knew you would not answer me. But I have answer 
enough already. And I do not know whether to be sorry or 
glad. It was she gave me this cap and this kerchief. It was 
she who made me this blue apron and knitted these mittens for 
me. It is she who changes Mieschen from a devil into a human 
child. It is she who, though she can be sharp sometimes — 


186 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Fleurette tells me so — comes into this room only to warm and 
to cheer it, like a living sunbeam.” 

(Oh, my maiden, my maiden !) 

“ And for that I am sorry. But I am glad, because my Min- 
chen was as beautiful, and yet was bruised and broken, while 
the light in her eyes had not a mote to sully it. I am glad, 
because my lily’s purity was soiled, and she was stainless. I 
have suffered so much that I want others to suffer with me — 
to be forced to groan as I do — to share my bitter pain.” 

I thought I saw Moppert coming, leading Mieschen by the 
hand, and that stayed me. 

“ Minchen, too, was beautiful. Minchen, too, heard false 
vows from hochwohlgehorenen Lippm, Minchen died, unshriven 
and unabsolved.” 

Thank Heaven, it was Moppert ! I could not have borne it 
much longer. But even he looked coldly at me — his smile of 
welcome forced and constrained ; his hand so loose in my warm 
grasp that it fell like a dead one when I dropped it. 

But his little companion, that land-mermaid, half inimitable 
grace, half horrible deformity, putting down the milk, advanced 
eagerly to propound the previous, and now more than ever in- 
opportune, questions : “ Dost love Therese ?” she said, her words 
intoned with a mournful sweetness like that of a dirge chanted 
over a dead child ; “ dost mean to marry her ?” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ DIM, BIM, BIM !” SAID THE BELL. 

“ An insult to his honor 
No man forgives, ye ken ; 

Revenge, the maid’s dishonor, 

A virtue is, in men.” 

Translated from Bodenstedt (Mirza Schaffy). 

“ On est plus criminel quelquefois qu’on ne pense.” 

Voltaire (fEdipe.) 

Two or three hours later Moppert and I were walking up to 
the spot where the Grand Hotel and Pension of Axenstein now 
stands, through the then solitary wood. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


187 


Whenever I see a wood in its late October splendor, I think 
of that day ; whenever I smell autumn’s peculiar odor or feel 
autumn’s peculiar breath upon my cheek, bringing with it a sense 
of strength and vigor as if intended as a reminder for those of 
weak faith that, though the aged year is drawing to its wintry 
end, man shall live — I hear again the crackling of the fallen 
leaves under our feet, and the birds’ joyous warbling above 
us ; see the rich mosses and the fairy cups ; smell the lich- 
ens ; and through it all hear Moppert’s voice ; its sweet-sound- 
ing Parisian accents falling mellow on my ear — the sentences 
beginning soft and low and rising towards the end like swelling 
music. 

Schwyz lay beneath us in the valley, guarded by two needle- 
shaped promontories, the bare, straight, rugged sides of which 
make them look like stern sentinels, whose watchword is “ duty,” 
and who, faithful to it, scorn any effeminate and emasculating 
ornamentation whatsoever. There is no softening snow upon 
their summits, no verdant tresses to hide their barrenness. Only 
sometimes towards evening they brighten into beauty. The sun 
places crowns of gold upon their bald heads, and, draping them 
in crimson, purple, and amber, transforms them into gods. 

But now they stood, frowning heavily down upon the sens- 
uous valley, basking in the brightness and warmth of the noon- 
day sun, and presuming to slumber before the day’s work was 
ended. Even the convent bell, drowsily summoning the faith- 
ful to confession of sin, almost sank into sleep during the very 
act. “ Bim, him, him !” it said. “ Life is short ! Bim, him, 
bim, bim ! Come, and confess.” 

But there was no rest for me. Moodily I paced along by the 
side of Moppert, cut to the heart by his refusal to take my prof- 
fered arm, wounded to the quick by the consciousness of a cloud 
of separation which had risen up between us ; yet too proud 
still, oh, much too proud ! to ask him for an explanation. We 
are called upon to suffer much in this probatory world, but the 
keenest suffering, the sharpest pain, we inflict upon ourselves. 

And now even my sense of wrong, chameleon-like, changed 
its color and resolved itself into a sense of justice. Not only 
pride, but shame, too, tied my tongue, and sternly forbade any 
attempt at vindication. I could not make foregoing wrong right 
because I had determined to do right for the future. I should 


188 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


not be able to escape the punishment of which every wrong bears 
in itself the inevitable germs. 

The thought of what might have been began to oppress me 
as heavily as if I had really reached the awful end of the awful 
road upon which I had entered. I had dallied with sweet poi- 
son, I had put it to my own sinfully enamoured lips and to the 
lips of another. Was I any less guilty because it had been 
dashed out of my hand ? 

Some odious remembrances of my short London career rose 
to my mind, filling me with a deep repugnance to myself. If 
Therese had not fled before me, her pure soul been a whit less 
spotless, her beautiful body tenanted by a less beautiful mind — 
what then ? 

“ Bim, him, him !” said the sleepy bell, breaking suddenly 
into shrillness ; “ bim, bim, bim, bim !” 

How did I know either that expiation was possible, that Provi- 
dence would allow me now to love in the only way in which 
love is worthy of the name ? In defiance of danger I had vol- 
untarily chosen to wander on the brink of a precipice, and I had 
been but one inch from the abyss. 

But an inch is as good as an ell when you can see. 

Yes. But when you are blinded by passion, lost to sense of 
past or future, conscious only of one intoxicating moment — 
what then ? 

Bim, bim, bim !” said the bell, sending up a bugle note, sharp 
and distinct, from the valley ; “ bim, bim, bim, bim !” 

My eye fell before Moppert’s look of searching inquiry. I 
dared not vindicate myself. 

“ Do you wish me to tell you why I went to Lucerne ?” in- 
quired Moppert, coldly. 

“ As you please,” I answered, as coldly. 

But then my pride gave way, and left me full of passionate 
yearning. 

“ How did you leave her I sobbed ; “ only tell me that.” 

“ Somewhat composed,” answered Moppert ; “ somewhat re- 
freshed after her night’s rest far away from him. Still there 
must have been an attachment. She told us frankly that she 
must escape or die, yet she shrank from the separation, almost 
as much as she longed for it. It was truly a case where the 
physician’s unflinching hand was needed to take off, even by 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


189 


force, the mortifying limb. She had lost all power to help her- 
self except by one irrevocable act. I verily believe that we have 
saved her from that.” 

He hardly seemed to comprehend my bewilderment, orjiardly 
chose to do so. 

“ Au. reste, mon cher," he continued, adopting a new and colder 
form of address for the accustomed “ mon ami^' “ one difficulty 
is cleared out of your way. She is not hourgeoise^ as I imagined. 
She is penniless, it is true, but of as noble birth as even your fa- 
ther could desire. Even he can hardly object to your union 
with a Countess of Mandelsloh. Her ancestors have been Grafen 
for generations, their patent of nobility going back much further 
than most of your English dukes.” 

And what if she had been a princess of the blood? what if 
she had been a queen? Love is no respecter or persons. It 
laughs at patents of nobility. It transfixes a King Cophetua 
with a beggar-maid’s bright eyes. 

This beautiful lady, about whom I had raved and dreamed a 
month before, was now as indifferent to me as the Mount Pilate 
in the brilliance of whose doubly reflected rays she had stood 
transfigured. Disgusted with the world’s sensual pleasures, 
wearying for love, I had filled the vacuum in my heart with a 
golden calf set up to represent him. But real love had come 
long since, full of indignation, to cast out the usurper. And, but 
for very shame of the Mentor beside me, I would have drawn 
back from the work, to the doing of which I had stretched forth 
so eager a hand. 

“You have fastidious notions as to beauty, monsieur,” con- 
tinued my Brutus, with a new sword-thrust. “You never ad- 
mired Mademoiselle Therese, you know, although the rest of us 
— nous autres — thought her as pleasant to contemplate as the sun 
at his rising. But it is well. Youth should be blind to the 
charms of all save one — the one. And ‘the one ’ in this case is 
beautiful as an angel.” 

If I had not been able to speak before, how could I speak 
now? 

“ I have done my best for you, monsieur. Already the fair 
countess smiles through her tears when your name is mentioned. 
She remembers you perfectly ; spoke of you with keen interest ; 
called you — do not let me make you vain — ‘ Ce heaujeune homme 


190 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Anglais."* Why do you look at me so reproachfully? Ah,je 
comprendsy c'»st Men naturel — you prefer to do your courting 
yourself.” 

“ I prefer, I wish — Oh, my God !” I cried, standing still in my 
despair, my back resting against the mossy trunk of an aged 
beech-tree, a solitary grandparent among a group of blooming 
offspring, “ What shall I do ? what shall I do !” 

“ Bim, bim, bim ?” said the bell, sending up its call in a faint 
desponding whisper ; “ bim, bim, bim, bim !” 

“ What shall you do, mon cher ? Ah, good Mother Nature will 
teach you that better than I. Murmur a few soft words — sense- 
less folly to the rest of the world ; sweetest wisdom to her to 
whom they are addressed. Courage, monsieur, the words will 
come as easily as the kisses ; there is a time in his life when every 
man is a poet. And the road before you is smooth as this soft 
turf under our feet, the long-hoped-for goal so near.” 

“ Let us go on,” I said, suddenly and imperiously. 

“ Ah, monsieur, I understand and honor your impatience, even 
while I smile at it. ‘ La jeunesse n*a qu'un temps* Alas ! I my- 
self am in the autumn of my life, like the year, but I can rejoice 
in your May; in the luxuriance of its bloom — hawthorn, lilac, 
syringa, nightingale-song — all in one glorious whole.” 

Where could I escape to ? Where could I run and hide from 
him? 

“ Not so fast, mon cher. My heart has a memory of May still 
green within it, but my legs have no longer the untiring vigor 
of youth, nor my lungs its strength. You must have patience 
with my mauy infirmities. As for you, it is easy to understand 
why the mention of possible exhaustion is as a tinkling cymbal 
in your ears to-day. Iron has been infused into your blood, 
monsieur, and the most potent restorative the world knows of in- 
jected into your nerves.” 

“ Oh, I am deliriously happy ! I am elated to desperation ! 
I am frantic with an overdose of delight! I am dying from 
repletion.” 

“ Gently, monsieur ; your blood is too fiery fior an Englishman, 
because it contains also the one-sided earnestness of your nation. 
We — nous autres Frangais — are all ablaze in a moment, but we 
soon fiicker and fade. You catch fire more slowly, but, par le 
bon J)kn / the intense flame of it is dangerous — it scorches m(?,” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


191 


“ And it is burning me to death, monsieur.” 

“ Soyez tranquille, mon ami. Sit down with me under the 
cool shade of this spreading oak. Weep a little ; it will ease you. 
Your cheek is like a coal of living fire, your pulse at fever heat. 
Just now, under the beech-tree, your face was pallid, your eye 
dimmed and hopeless, you shunned my eye, which would fain 
have penetrated to the cause of your changed aspect. Now you 
look at me with fire in your glance, but I am still troubled. I 
fear the pains of love will always be greater for you than its 
pleasures.” 

I threw myself upon the turf at his feet, the gloriously tinted 
wood undulating before us, in as gay and variegated hues as 
Joseph’s coat of many colors, down to the shimmering water. 
He made me rest my hot head upon his knee, stroking my burn- 
ing cheek as tenderly as Therese might have done. 

“You shall give the key of your locked heart to Moppert by-and- 
by,” he said, “ and though he must not spare you — only aid you 
if necessary to pluck out the offending eye or cut off the offend- 
ing arm, he will do it in love. Let us talk of something else, 
till you are calmer. What have you been doing in my ab- 
sence ?” 

“ Growing older, monsieur.” 

“ That is true,” he said, earnestly ; “ so much older that it 
puzzles me. So many new lines in your face, that I tremble for 
a premature age. Gray hairs, too,” pulling one, smilingly, from 
out my light-brown hair. “ And it is not only you in whom a 
week has worked such a marvellous change. I met William 
yesterday ; he has grown quite bent since I saw him last. Petei^s 
Nick might be fourscore. Little Mieschen is a woman. Even 
Mademoiselle Therese — ” 

He stopped, raising his head and one warning finger simul- 
taneously. I stopped too — my very breath. 

“ Did you hear a footstep as if some one were moving below 
us — a rustling as of tree-branches disturbed ?” 

“ I heard nothing, monsieur, but the sigh of the gentle wind 
and your own words, ‘ even Mademoiselle Therese — ’ ” 

“ Do you see something white gleaming through the green 
undergrowth — a moving something like the flowing garments of 
a wood nymph ?” 

“I see nothing, monsieur, but the gleaming of the water, 


192 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


snowy white where snowy clouds are passing over it. You 
were speaking of — of Mademoiselle Therese.” 

But he sprang to his feet, looking eagerly down towards the 
lake ; his eyes fixed, anxious, and dilating. “ My sight has the 
peculiarity of age,” he murmured ; “ it is better than yours for 
the far distance. I see, I am sure I see — Chut ! what is that ?” 

“ Bim, him, him !” said the dying bell, its faint voice only 
just audible ; “ bim, bim, bim, bim I” 

The next moment I had risen too, turning a pale and dum- 
founded face towards my agitated companion, for a cry of in- 
tense human terror broke the silence, or, rather, left behind it a 
momentary silence in the wood. The birds ceased to twitter, 
the grasshoppers to chirp. The squirrels paused in the very act 
of springing. My blood curdled in my veins ; my heart’s beat was 
silenced. The leaves, falling one by one around us, died with- 
out a rustle. 

It might have been a phantom cry, it was so faint, so far off, 
and never once repeated. It was the very whisper of a cry — in 
no wise an appeal to man, but only one to God. 

Then my heart sent forth its curdled blood, rushing wildly to 
the surface ; my brain began to dimly comprehend the approach 
of a crisis ; and my body to straighten and nerve itself for an 
attack. Something of the brute pleasure which comes to men 
at such moments came to me, filling all my veins with a quick, 
pulsating joy, like the animating and inspiriting sound of martial 
music. Instinctively I followed Moppert’s example, tore off a 
stout branch from a neighboring birch, and, stripping it of all ex- 
traneous leaves and branches, formed it into a by no means 
despicable weapon. 

Yet my idea as to who my adversary was — whom 1 was going 
to fight — was as vague and indefinite as if I had been acting in 
a dream. I only knew, somehow, that there was somebody to 
thrash, and that I meant to thrash him with a vengeance. The 
brute instinct to fight was uppermost in me for the time, heated 
to intensest fury by a fire lit by love. 

“ Follow me, mon ami,'"' said Moppert, in the low, passionate 
tones of profound excitement. “ I had composed myself to hear 
a confession, now I must fight for one.” 

He led me by a winding path — for he knew every foot of 
ground upon the hill, having had ample opportunity of explor- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


193 


ing it during my illness — to a spot where, hidden behind a mass 
of thick, bushy undergrowth, we could see and hear what was go- 
ing on without being ourselves discernible. We had crept as 
noiselessly as deer-stalkers or savage Indians. We stood now 
as motionless. For we both saw, at a glance, that there was no 
immediate danger. 

Then I knew why every drop of blood within me had been 
eager for the fight. That is to say, my brain knew it. My 
body had known and vibrated to it at the woman’s cry. 

I grasped my rough instrument of chastisement with fierce de- 
light. He had insulted me ; he had foully wronged Moppert. 
Here, in the lonely wood, he should pay the penalty — a penalty 
which every honest man is justified in inflicting on a scoundrel. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

HE AND SHE AGAIN. 

“ C’est un exemple £1 fuir, que celui des forfaits.” 

Corneille (Cmna, Acte 3, Sc. 1). 

There are past scenes in most lives which have been so in- 
delibly branded on the memory that when they recur it is with 
a vividness almost more intense than the reality. Not only are 
our brains at such moments endowed with abnormal power : our 
bodies, our senses, our nerves — spurred into intense emulation — 
acquire abnormal power too, step far beyond their ordinary lim- 
its, and perform prodigies. Such supreme moments are, of 
course, supremely rare. Should they occur often, our over- ' 
strained faculties would lose all their elasticity and grow limp 
and powerless. We should have to pay heavily for the short 
period of apotheosis, by subsequent mental death. 

I have only to shut my eyes, and I see it all again ; every leaf, 

I think, and every flower. There is a tiny green lizard, creeping 
out from under the fallen leaves ; he is evidently intent on 
making a meal of the heedless, bright-winged insect hovering 
near him. There is a fly, a stinging one, on Moppert’s clenched 
right hand. I see a boat below us on the lake, its white sail 
gleaming in the sunlight. I see a Lammergeier hovering high 
13 


194 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


over us, a dark patch on the sapphire sky ; I am sure it is a 
Lammergeier and not a hawk. That is an unknown fern, to me, 
nestling yonder in the hollow — Mabel and Aileen used to collect 
ferns ; I’ll get a bit of it. What a glorious fritillary ! how ex- 
quisitely soft and downy is the rich, variegated brown of its 
wings ! Woodruff scattered thickly under our feet : in seed and 
scentless now, but how it must have perfumed the wood in the 
spring ! What a clever fellow Moppert is ! we can look through 
this break in the brushwood as through a window ; see without 
being seen. Thus sight rambled on, and drew its inferences, 
independently of me ; for soul, its rigorous master, was else- 
where. 

The other senses were equally alert. Hearing, perhaps, the 
keenest of all. The “ bim, bim !” of the bell from Schwyz, on 
the other side of the hill, just removed from silence. Every 
breath, every movement, every rustle in the wood spoke to me — 
loud, clear, distinct, pregnant with meaning ; Moppert’s smoth- 
ered breath and my own throbbing pulse so loudly, that I won- 
dered they did not turn to look whence the sound proceeded. 

They — for though my quickened senses seemed to hear and 
see and have knowledge of everything, as if they had absorbed 
into themselves a hundred others, my soul was conscious but of 
them ; saw and heard and felt them alone. 

He and she again; looking intently at one another as I had 
first seen them on the promenade at Lucerne, and once more in 
the phantom boat. And I shall see them like that from time to 
time in the mirror of my memory till it is broken — his beautiful 
lips white with passion, hers with terror. 

Like a helpless bird fascinated by the basilisk gaze of the ser- 
pent, she sat motionless, her violet eyes dilated and fixed on his ; 
her right hand still mechanically grasping some brightly tinted 
leaves and scarlet berries ; her white lips, not trembling, but as- 
phyxiated, under his burning and imperious gaze, which seemed 
to scorch and consume her power of resistance — to awe even the 
fibres of her body into submission. 

The cry we had heard must have been uttered when he sur- 
prised her — which he evidently had done. Now it would have 
been impossible. 

He stood opposite her, his right hand slightly resting on a 
walking-stick he carried, his grandly chiselled face in profile, 


THKOUGII LOVE TO LIFE. 


195 


liis magnificent figure, standing at graceful ease, tlirown out into 
strong relief against the glowing background of warmly tinted 
leaf and azure sky and emerald, water. He wore no uniform to- 
day, but was simply attired in the conventional gray costume of 
the tourist ; possibly to avoid recognition or notice, though his 
beauty made him so conspicuous an object that he would have 
been a marked man anywhere. No gray insipidity of color, no 
shapeless cut of garment, could mar his beauty, as no uniform 
could make it. Every one of his movements — now full of vo- 
luptuous ease, now passionate and excited — was as graceful as 
that of a young leopard, his splendidly moulded limbs as supple. 
The rich coloring of his complexion, instead of suffering by the 
contrast with the rich tints of nature, seemed enhanced by them, 
as if for the first time seen to absolute perfection in that glori- 
ous setting. 

I was forced to acknowledge — hating him as I did — that as a 
perfect human animal, nature’s masterpiece, he bore away the 
palm, even when subjected to this severe comparison surround- 
ing him — bore it away without a struggle. But it was the devil, 
not God, who had breathed into him the breath of life. 

He spoke first. At the sound of his musical, seductive voice 
I started so violently that Moppert laid a warning hand heavily 
on my arm : 

“ So thou hast tried to escape me, Kathe,” he said, his full 
lips curling, his sharp white teeth flashing threateningly through 
them ; “ thy brain is well developed for a feminine one ; there 
is no lack of sense under thy golden curls, as well as no lack of 
obstinacy ; but die EinfdltigTceit selhst must have taught thee to 
believe that thou couldst do that.” 

I saw her sweet white lips momentarily convulsed, as if she 
were trying to speak. But no sound issued through them. The 
shudder which ran through her slight frame was his only answer. 

“ Dost thou think,” he continued, “ that I would leave my 
most precious treasure unwatched and unguarded ? I am always 
with thee, Kathchen, in the body or in the spirit. For thou art, 
though thou wouldst deny it, a part of myself, as I am a part of 
thee. Thou hast my love always. I gave it thee, freely, when 
I first set eyes on thee — dost remember it, Kathe ? — under spread- 
ing trees, as now, in the palace forest.” 

“ If I remember it ?” she gasped. “ Oh, if I could forget !” 


196 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ I thought I had loved before,” he said ; “ thouglit the quick- 
ly fading passion I had felt for other women was love, and had 
learned to hate the very name of it. I was wandering through 
the dark forest all alone, killing beautiful living things in order 
to kill Memory. But Memory would not die. She showed me 
all her hideous records, till my brain reeled, and Desperation 
seized me for her prey. I raised the muzzle of my gun, and 
pressed it to my maddened brain. I laid my finger on the trig- 
ger. If there were no other road to Lethe, I — young, rich, hand- 
some, a prince, a ruler — I must seek it thus.'*' 

She must have loved him, for I saw her arms stretch them- 
selves involuntarily towards him, as if to save. He saw it, too, 
and smiled. 

“ See’st thou, Kathe ! Thou hast taught thy lips to perjure 
themselves, but the rest of thy body throws back the lie to the 
false tongue, and passionately asserts itself against the misguided 
soul that would govern it. The color has faded from thy eyes 
at the thought of past danger to me. It is a sign that I shall 
triumph. To-day I shall wring a ‘ Yes ’ from thee after a thou- 
sand ‘ Noes.’ To-day I shall carry thee back with me to repent 
of thy obstinacy on a bosom which never forgave living thing 
before, save thee.” 

I nearly sprang out of my ambush ; should have done so if he 
had touched her. But the impetuosity of his forward movement 
had been but the mechanical yielding of the body to the passion 
of the soul. He had evidently resolved to exhaust argument be- 
fore resorting to force. Only when he should attempt the latter 
had we a legal right to interfere. 

“ Let us go back in thought, Kathe,” he continued, gently, 
“ to that first morning when we met — thou and I — in the solemn 
pine-w'ood, where the tall, brown, branchless stems stood around 
us like cathedral pillars, forming endless avenues, while leaves 
from many a bygone year lay thick under our feet. The car- 
riage sent to meet thee had missed thee, somehow, and thou wast 
walking to thy new home in the palace with a Hungarian lad for 
thy guide, who had chosen for thee the lonely, though certainly 
shorter, cut through the forest. Dost remember it ?” 

“ Yes, oh, yes, yes !” 

“ The cold muzzle of the fowling-piece had touched my throb- 
bing temple, for life with that incessant wailing memory along 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


197 


with it had grown too horrible to be endured. If the carriage 
had met thee that morning, my Kathe, or thy Hungarian guide 
loved forest shade less, thou wouldst never have seen the man 
before thee, but, perhaps, as a senseless corpse.” 

Again, with an irrepressible shudder, she half extended her 
arms. Again, smiling, he continued : 

“But Fate willed it otherwise, Geliehte ; Fate had not made 
me what I am to die before my prime. She sent a lovely hand 
— thine, my Kathe — to do a work too hard for me : to kill im- 
placable Memory, and Desperation, her latest born. I stayed 
my hand for a moment, angry at the interruption ; then forgot 
my fell purpose in watching thee. 

“ As thou earnest onward, at first only a tiny bright speck at 
the extreme end of one of the dark, stately avenues, all converg- 
ing towards me, I fancied the very sunbeams above the mighty 
trees were all enamoured of thee, for, whenever it was possible, one 
of them was sure to creep in to nestle warmly on thy golden hair.” 

His voice had sunk almost to the tone of self-communing. In 
looking at the past, he turned his eyes away from the present. 
She sighed and moved slightly, with an evident sensation of re- 
lief, while the violet came back into her raised orbs, deepened 
by a tear. His gentleness alarmed me more than his anger. I 
began to doubt whether her heart could resist it. 

“ Thy hat was in thy hand, Kathchen, and thy fair hair fell 
unconfined around thee ; thy cheek, usually a little pale for one 
so young, was fiushed by warmth and exercise ; now and then I 
saw thee stoop to pick up a fallen cone. Every one of thy move- 
ments was full of an indescribable grace — not the studied grace 
of our court ladies, taught by a dancing-master ; only Nature had 
been thy mistress. Consciousness of self had never come near 
thee, my darling ; the blushes coming and going on thy round 
young cheek were not painted by h^r. Thou hadst made ac- 
quaintance with Pain ; I saw that in the gentle pensiveness of 
thy brow, the gravity of thy innocent mouth, which not even the 
brightest smile could quite dissipate ; but she had laid no sully- 
ing hand upon thee. For once cruel Pain had come, not to rob, 
but to endow grace.” 

His gentleness, the fascination of his pleading voice, made me 
tremble from head to foot. If my heart were softening under it, 
how much more must hers ! 


198 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Thou earnest on through the lonely wood, my Kathe, like an 
embodied innocence. Thy sweet presence calmed even me, and 
stayed my intention. The fowling-piece fell from my hand. 

“ Thou hadst not seen me yet, Kathe, hidden as I was behind 
a tree-stem, the dark gray and green of my shooting-costume 
harmonizing almost completely with the tints of nature ; but now 
thy guide’s more practised eye caught mine, meeting his frown- 
ingly, and he stood still, petrified with terror, probably knowing 
that he had sinned, and conscious of deserving punishment. 

“ I sent away thy guide, Kathe — one of my people ; he had 
been poaching, doubtless, and his undiscovered crime and my 
frown together were too much for him. That night he hanged 
himself in the forest. It had clamored for a sin-offering that 
day, and accepted the servant for his lord. What, can the 
death of a base boor affect thee like that ?” 

“ Oh, it is horrible, horrible, horrible !” she said. 

“ Beruhige dich^ mein susses Lieb. Thou henceforth shalt gov- 
ern my people, and my judgments be tempered by thy mercy. 
Nay, thou must not turn from me. I am sorry. See, I, Prince 
Eberhard von Pobeldowski, never said that before to any mortal 
on earth or to any God above. I am sorry. I will repent. I 
will love my people for thy sake. Think of that ! think of the 
good, the happiness that will result from thy consent. Oh, I 
know thee, Kathchen ! I was foolish — mad, to try and coerce 
such a woman as thou. I have not been taught patience. All 
my life long I have said, ‘ I will,’ and everything has yielded. 
Have pity on me, Kathe, have pity !” 

She was in an agony of weeping now, her slight frame con- 
vulsed. I looked pleadingly at Moppert, but he shook his head 
still. 

“ Weine nicht^ mein Liehling^ or, rather, weep on until that 
frozen, implacable ‘ No ’ in thy dear eyes is dissolved forever. 
I let my untried patience break where it should have been strong- 
est, and frightened my timid bird. Men are not like women, 
Kathe ; their passions will not always obey the curb. But wom- 
en — some of them — are angels, and know how to forgive. For- 
give me, Kathe ; I have retied my patience, and the knot will 
bear much now ; will bear any strain but one — nay, comtesse, 
that is the one thing it will not bear. I will not suffer thee to 
turn from me. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


199 


The blue veins upon his forehead, from which he now vehe- 
mently flung the straw hat, swelled almost to bursting as he 
spoke. The desperate struggle between passion and self-control 
was grim and fierce, but the latter, though with trembling hands, 
kept the reins still. His voice, when he could make it audible 
again, was gentler, tenderer than ever. 

“ Thou wast not afraid of me that morning in the forest, 
Kathe, nor shrank then from my presence. Thy own heart was 
thy teacher, unbiassed by prejudice, unpoisoned by base words 
of calumny. Men are not women, as I said before, and very 
narrow-minded must be the woman who would measure them 
by her standard of right and wrong. We must learn to be good, 
Kathe, by sinning. How can we detest pollution without hav- 
ing waded in some measure through it? Let thy heart be my 
judge, Kathe, and thine. I submit to it. I will bow to its 
decree.” 

“ Oh, my heart is a traitor,” she sobbed ; my heart is false 
to me.” 

“ No, Kathe, it is true as gold. Trust it, and all will be well. 
Bless thee for those words, my treasure ! Let me take thee 
back with me into the pine-wood, and we will fancy ourselves 
there again — the simple voice of nature, and our own unfettered 
impulses, our only arbiters — the great world outside, with its 
misleading and mischievous teaching, nothing to either of us. 
No suspicion clouded thy fair face when I dismissed thy guide 
and offered to conduct thee myself to the palace. The Hun- 
garian lad had done homage to me as his lord and prince, and 
at first there was some fear in thy timid greeting to thy master ; 
but ere long thy look of awe changed into a shy look of pleas- 
ure. I soon got thee to talk to me, and learned all thy previous 
history by one or two simple questions. What was it, Kathe ? 
I have forgotten the story ; hardly listened to the words of the 
song, so matchless was the voice trilling it. Something about 
a dead father, an unhappy home, a hard stepmother who had 
made escape from that home like release from a prison, and a 
few bright hopes for the future. Thou hadst suffered, Kath- 
chen, and thy song, my bird, was very plaintive, tremulous, and 
unsteady. But soon in the new and unaccustomed sunshine it 
swelled into a gladder key, and thy tender heart peeped out of 
the dreary convent where it had been educated, to sun itself in 


200 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


the ripening light of love. Thy blue eyes looked up into mine 
as fearlessly as they had looked into the guide’s, but differently 
too. When turned on him, though very gently, they had com- 
manded ; now they sued.” 

Oh, I had reason to fear for her ! With inimitable skill, with 
matchless art, he was playing on the chords of her too suscep- 
tible heart, and every quivering nerve responded. 

“ And they did not sue in vain, my Kathe. I walked by thy 
side only as a protector, the yearning of my heart as pure as 
thine. There was no lack of Wurde in thy matchless Anmuth^ 
and where dignity and grace are combined, the woman rises 
above the man’s level and is stronger than he. Every word, 
every look, every movement of thine revealed the inborn lady, 
that man-subduing element in women which even a queen may 
be without. Thy Anmuth, even more than thy beauty, attracted 
me, as the butterfly yonder is attracted by the sweet scent of 
the flowers ; but thy Wurde held a shield before thee, an im- 
penetrable one, which has resisted all attack, and kept me in 
perpetual check until now. I' knew at the beginning of our 
acquaintance that, if I would win thy pure heart, I must win it 
innocently, and I vowed to do so. I would make compensation 
to thy sex for the wrong I had done them by unceasing good- 
ness to thee.” 

The very stones might have been melted by the pleading pa- 
thos of his voice. Even Moppert’s inflexibility seemed to falter. 
A perceptible tremor passed through him. The Prince con- 
tinued : 

“ Was it wrong to lead thee farther into the wood, to deter- 
mine to linger to the utmost in the first absolutely pure compan- 
ionship I had ever known? Yet I never touched thee till thy 
foot stumbled against some obstacle, and thou, of thy own ac- 
cord, put thy hand upon my arm. Oh, the magic of that touch, 
Kathchen ! The magic of a touch which no man, even the most 
blessed, ever feels but once.” 

I could not help echoing his deep sigh ; and I think Moppert 
echoed it too. The tears of his beautiful companion had ceased 
to flow, and she sat listening to him in a momently deepening 
trance. I feared she was lost ; and I feared, too, that we were 
losing the power to help her. 

“We passed out of the pine-wood into an adjoining one of 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


201 


oaks and elms and stately beeches. Thy hand touched a bram- 
ble-bush ; the tender skin was torn, and bled. I led thee to a 
pond I knew of to wash away the tiny blood-drop. The color 
had left thy cheek, and I moistened thy face with water. I 
rent my handkerchief in twain to bind up the wound; I have 
it still, the torn morsel, stained with thy blood. 

“ We bent together over the water, thy hand as confidingly 
in mine as if we had been two children to whom passion was 
but as the murmuring voice of a placid ocean far away, the fury 
of its storms yet undreamed of ; we gazed enchanted at our own 
marvellous beauty, dimly reflected in its dark depths. What a 
pair we were, my Kathe ! made, believe me, made for each oth- 
er ! I had read Ovid’s ‘ Metamorphoses,’ and wished the gods 
would change us, too, into something that would exist for centu- 
ries — me, into the strong-limbed oak ; thee, into the green ivy 
twining round it.” 

“ If they only had !” she said. 

“ They reserved us for something better, my Kathe — for a 
life together as man and woman, husband and wife. Yes, Ge- 
liehte, as my wifcy whom even the miserable world thou art so 
foolish as to dread will delight to honor. If I cannot get the 
emperor’s consent — and I shall, for thou art a countess of Man- 
delsloh, inheritress of a name as ancient as our own — I will let 
my present heir take the succession, and exchange the power I 
sinned so fatally to obtain, exchange it gladly for love.” 

“ Your wife !” she said, looking at him with a roused and 
altered expression, not of pleasure, but surprised indignation. 
“ Your wife, Prince Eberhard, when — ” 

“ When I have foully sinned against thee, by encouraging the 
world to think differently. I was mad, Kathe. I have suffered, 
sinned enough to make me so. That was one of my means of 
coercing thee. But I have learned two things since then. I 
have learned that thou canst not be coerced, and also that I can- 
not live without thee. And I let thee go, at the suggestion of 
the Schenkmadchen, with the assistance of the verfluchten French- 
man — whom I will punish yet — to show thee that thou canst not 
live without me. My spies saw thee and them in that boat of 
Josef Aufdermauer’s, though midnight darkness encompassed 
you. Now, my Kathe, I have conquered ; is it not so ? Thou 
wilt come back to me of thy own free will. And I will not 


202 


TlIliOUGII LOVE TO LIFE. 


even tell thee that I forgive, in the completeness of my forgive- 
ness.” 

“ I dare not ! I dare not !” she gasped. 

‘ Dare not.’ Oh, woman’s love is the most despicable thing 
on earth if it will not dare so little for its own sake. ‘Dare 
not,’ when thou art daring to drive me back on desperation. 
Nature, which made in thee for once an almost perfect creation, 
body and soul, could not leave out that verdammte Eigenschaft 
cles WeideSy that supremest folly of woman, which impels her to 
strain man’s endurance to its utmost limit — to try how far she 
may dare. Nehmen Sie sich in Achty Comtesse — take care ! I 
have not learned to be patient.” 

Passion had got the bit between its teeth now, and the reins 
in the hands of Self-control were useless ; but Passion, as if 
afraid of its own liberty, still went softly. His face had lost its 
rich color and was ashen gray as he continued : 

“ Thou alone, Geliebtey hast seen me weak — weakened by the 
strength of my love, and it is not wonderful that thou shouldst 
like sometimes to show thy power. Women, even the best of 
them, are childish enough to enjoy tormenting those they love, 
but with men it is different. We bring all our forces to bear 
upon one thing, Kathe, and distraction irritates us beyond en- 
durance. Love, to you, is either business or amusement ; with 
us it is passion. Thou hadst nearly driven me to hurt thee, and 
when a man, forced thereunto by keenest suffering, hurts what 
he loves, the pain he inflicts falls back upon himself again like 
an added curse. We cannot enjoy giving pain, as you do. When 
we hurt what we love, we suffer most.” 

He stopped, looking at her — the passion, still restrained in 
action, flaming out of his eyes. 

“ Let it be enough, Kathe. In the lives before us thou wilt 
have ample opportunity for the exercise of thy power. To-day 
my patience is worn away to a thread so fragile that another 
tug must break it. And if thou dost not fear the consequences, 
auf meine furstliche WurdCy auf meine Ehre als Prinz und Offi- 
zier — I doP 

He had advanced towards her while speaking, and now her 
face was white as death, and she fell forward in a deep swoon. 
But her last conscious effort was to repulse him. The “ No ” 
he had so fiercely contended against died away only in the 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


203 


silence of unconsciousness. He might break but never bend 
her — never conquer the indomitable soul. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AN INEVITABLE ROAD. 

“ Sed omnes una manet nox, 

Et calcanda semel via lethi.” 

Horace, Od . i. 28. 

But now another cry ran through the serene quiet of the 
wood, mingling itself discordantly with the myriad gentle whis- 
pers which make up nature’s silence ; and this time no feeble 
woman’s cry for help, but a war-cry from men, awakening all 
the echoes. 

Moppcrt’s restraining hand had withdrawn itself when she 
fell forward, and now his command to advance was obeyed by 
his fiery adjutant almost before it was uttered. At the moment 
when we broke through the brushwood, I was conscious of noth- 
ing but the fierce delight of warfare, my blood dancing within 
me at the elevating certainty that I had found an adversary 
worthy of my steel. 

Sudden and unexpected as was our appearance, it found the 
prince not wholly unprepared. The ever-watchful instinct, the 
undaunted courage of the true soldier, must have been an in- 
tegral part of his nature in spite of all his wickedness — wicked- 
ness which on account of its very excess raised him above con- 
tempt, placed him upon a pedestal of crime, and forced you, 
looking up, to do involuntary homage to the grandeur of the 
terrible. His face, so violently agitated but a second before, 
grew hard and cold as iron. The smile hovering round his 
mouth changed instantaneously into the haughty sneer of con- 
temptuous recognition. No shadow of either surprise or fear 
modified the intense virulence of the conscious hate with which 
he honored the implacability of the two enemies before him. 
For he knew us. 

With the most admirable self-possession he gently laid the 
lady on the sward, stooped to pick up his fallen walking-stick. 


204 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


and advanced towards us. The supple ease of his movements — 
that rare combination of strength with lightness which arises 
from the perfection of proportion — ravished my eye in spite of 
myself. A prince of darkness he was, maybe, but nevertheless 
a prince — his patent of nobility given him by Nature. 

“You have disturbed me, gentlemen,” he said, courteously — 
the eourtesy of defiance. “ Nevertheless, since you are here, 
we may as well settle our accounts with one another. A step 
or two farther back, if you please. It is hardly en regie to fight 
in presence of a lady, though, fortunately, she is at present un- 
conscious. What have you to say to me, mon capitaine? II 
faut commencer avec vous. Vous Hes Vaine. Vous avez Men le 
droiV* 

“ That lady,” said Moppert, quietly, “ is under my protection. 
I will spare you the trouble of further attendance on her. That 
is all.” 

“A very comprehensive all, mon capitaine — an ‘all’ that does 
you credit. Much courage may be packed into a very small 
parcel. Your legs are short, mon petit monsieur, but what mat- 
ters it when your courage is so tall and so fiery ? Never mind, 
I will help to cool and reduce it. Did you enjoy the process so 
much last time that you are eager for more ?” 

“ You will not irritate me into abandoning my purpose, prince. 
Be sure of that.” 

“ Are you going to summon the universe to be your witness, 
as you did last time we met, monsieur ? That was rather a fine 
bit of acting, by-the-bye. There was a spiee of real tragedy in 
it. The actor who can make every muscle in his body subservi- 
ent to him has undoubted talent. I have seen worse acting 
bring down a Vienna house. Pity the motive was such a paltry 
one — the death of a dog.” 

He laughed, watching the torch of anger lighting up in Mop- 
pert’s eye. 

“But you are gathering your forces, perhaps, for another 
tragedy, mon capitaine. Tragedy must be your forte. You are 
a son of la gr-r-r-ande nation. You need a deal of thrashing to 
teach you humility. You have recently had a dose which ought 
to satisfy you, but there is plenty more of the same sort ; wuch- 
tige Deutsche Hiehe, smart English slaps with the flat of the 
sword, the stinging lashes of Austro-Hungary.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


205 


Still Moppert was silent. 

“ Pour moij fai eu assez de tragedie aujourdUiuL * I have 
been having a private rehearsal, and it has exhausted me. I am 
weary of it. What do you say to a change, monsieur ? Human 
nature demands change. Let us finish up with comedy — a 
screaming farce. We will act together this time, monsieur, and 
your companion there shall be our audience. We will call it : 

‘ The Whipped Hero.’ ” 

Up to this moment I, too, had kept silence, following the tacit 
command of my beloved leader, but this was too much for me. 
I started forward, uttering an indignant exclamation. 

“ Ah,” said the prince, pretending to recognize me for the 
first time, “it is the young English chanticleer, burning with 
emulation to win his spurs in the sacred cause of friendship. 
It is touching. I feel almost tempted to break out into those 
world-renowned lines of Schiller’s — 

‘ Ich sey, gewahrt mir die Bitte, 

In eurem Bunde der Dritte !’ 

only I have the sense to see that I should be a very incongruous 
element.” 

“ I am not so long-suffering as Monsieur le Capitaine,” I said, 
fiercely. 

“ No, sir, you are English, not French. You make a devil of 
a noise, and do nothing. ‘ Kikeriki !’ that’s your note, sir, on 
the top of every foreign dunghill as well as on the tops of your 
own. And in the meantime the dunghills flourish amazingly, 
and other nations, hearing your impotent cry, look at you and 
laugh. Grradually, and almost imperceptibly, the lion’s roar has 
changed into the bray of an ass. Never fear, sir, you shall get 
your caning when the proposed farce is ended.” 

Saying which, he suddenly shifted his walking-stick, called 
out to Moppert, and I became spectator of a desperate struggle. 
As they closed with each other my friend had commanded, loud 
and clear : 

“ No interference, mon ami ; let me do it alone.” 

How or when I became a factor in the fight I cannot tell. I 
found myself, somehow, straining every sinew in my system to 
hold a pair of struggling hands ; and blows were falling heavily 
on a human body, now mine, now his, vaguely recalling to my 


206 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


mind old Eton days, when proud boys endured, stoically and in 
Spartan silence, martyrdom under the name of discipline. I 
was in no sense of the word a free agent, only one working 
wheel in the complicated machinery of circumstances, driven to 
action by an overpowering force beyond and outside me. 

Then the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of brilliant colors arranged 
itself afresh. The prince had wrenched himself free from the 
iron grip with which we held as we chastised him. I now dis- 
tinctly saw his white face with its gleaming eyes of fire opposite 
me — a terrible centre to the odd shapes of intensest color which 
were grouped around it. Above us arched the autumn sky, 
higher and bluer than I ever remember to have seen it before ; 
behind were tall forest trees, their golden foliage sparkling in 
the vivid sunlight, and standing out like giants among the 
younger and more tenderly colored wood below. I saw the 
muzzle of a pistol pointed at my heart ; knew why he chose to 
kill me before Moppert ; and had no more power to move than 
if I had been petrified. 

Then the flash — the little puff of smoke — the report, which 
ran from hill to hill in thundering echo. 

But, 0 merciful God ! it was not I who fell ; it was not my 
life-blood which oozed slowly out of a deadly wound. Moppert 
had brought the last, the supreme, offering to the altar of friend- 
ship — he had laid down his life for me. 

The birds’ sweet song, momentarily checked, went on again 
as joyous as ever ; the Geier’s flight, delayed for an instant, con- 
tinued with unfaltering wing; the water’s fair face dimpled 
anew with smiles ; the busy insects buzzed and hummed and 
chirped with undiminished ardor — all of them deaf, blind, and 
senseless to the great human drama enacting ; while I knelt upon 
the grass beside my dying friend, powerless to help him. 

Powerless, for already his face was contracting to the death 
agony. 

Then my soul rose up in fierce rebellion against its maker. I 
arraigned God on his throne before the fallible bar of human 
justice. I cried out in the intensity of my heart’s despair: 
“ If this is thy mercy, this thy right, I will have none of thee. 
Thy decrees are monstrous in their cruelty. We cannot bear 
them.” 

The blasphemy of this thought was, I trust, I pray, drowned 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


201 

in the flood of tears which burst from my burning eyes. And 
now I became conscious that Moppert was speaking. 

“ Is that you, mon ami P 

“ It is I.” 

“ The curtain is falling thick before me. I cannot see earthly 
things. I cannot see your face, my boy. But I can see — ” 

He stopped, gasping for breath. 

“ ‘ C'est a moi que la vengeance appartient^ je la rendrai, dit le 
Seigneur' Cher ami^ we have been trying to do his work, and 
this is his answer.” 

Again he stopped, painfully trying to push back obtrusive 
Death for a moment. 

“ I must tell you one thing before I go, cher gargon. I have 
been a mistaken guide. I see it now. I was wrong.” 

“ Oh, my friend ! my more than father !” 

“ You must not avenge my death, dear boy — promise me.” 

“ Oh, ask anything but that !” 

“ I see things in a clearer light than you now — in the divine 
light of death. Promise.” 

“ I do ! I do ! My life, you have purchased it. But this is 
harder than death.” 

“You were going to confess. It is — late. It is night — Je 
mis trop fatigue — I must sleep.” 

I bent low over him. His voice was now but a feeble whisper. 

“ ‘ 0 DieUy sois apaise envers moi qui suis pecheur' What 
does the bell say ? — Confess — to God.” 

After a pause he added with great difficulty : 

“ Always do the — right — however hard.” 

The next words were inaudible ; I had to read them from his 
quivering lips. 

“ Kiss me, my boy. Take my head upon your breast.” 

I raised his honored head and laid it on my bosom. I pressed 
my lips to his paling ones. I bedewed his face with my tears. 
His breaking eyes opened wide ; his lips were smiling. 

“ If I had ever had a son — ” 

Then, joyfully and loudly : 

“ Gracieuse^ ma petite^ sois tranquille ! C'est moi." 

As he spoke the last word. Death laid a gentle hand upon his 
mouth and silenced it on earth forever. The great, the inscru- 
table mystery lay upon my heart — the terrible separation of 


208 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


spirit from matter was witnessed by me for the first time. 
Love and light and friendship had gone out of the body they 
had made so inexpressibly dear to me — the mortal frame that 
had held the soul of a hero soulless once more. 

Let me pass over the next few weeks in silence. They were 
among the most terrible of my life. During them I was ex- 
posed to the fury of a wildly tossed ocean ; the one spar I had 
to cling to — Moppert’s parting words : “ Do the right, however 
liard ” — as often as not submerged and at the last gasp with me. 

For, many a time, my own conception of right waged furious 
war with the promise he had extorted from me. Not avenge 
his death ! The not doing it, the not devoting my whole life to 
do it, often seemed to me even more despicable than perjury to 
a dead friend ; and the two conflicting emotions almost rent me 
in twain. 

During the conflict, though her spiritual presence was ever 
near me, the personality of Therese was all but forgotten. Love 
drew modestly into the background of my heart, putting on sack- 
cloth and ashes for my dead friend. 

Then there came a lull. I resolved, not knowing what else to 
do, to do as I had been bidden. And when I clung, like a timid 
child, to the skirts of Submission, came the divine command, 
“ Let there be light.” 

“ Do the right, however hard.” Oh, it was very hard to leave 
my maiden, without even a parting word, a parting embrace ; 
but the compass-needle of duty pointed steadily to the north — 
to Ballyacora Hall — where dwelt an old man who had a right 
to be consulted before I acted, because, whatever else he 'had 
failed to bestow, he had given me existence. 

I resolved to take the countess with me. The princely mur- 
derer, in escaping from the scene of his crime, had left her be- 
hind. She had succumbed to her terror and her grief. I had 
to wait for her recovery. The passionate wish of a few weeks 
ago had passed into fulfilment, bringing, as every fulfilled wish 
does, also its trouble. Henceforth the burden of her life was 
upon my own. 

She wanted to go to England ; as soon as she was able to see 
me she told me that. She had relatives there — or, at least, one 
relative, with whom she hoped to find a refuge. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


209 


This relative’s name — a singular contrast to her own grand- 
sounding one— was Smith— a certain Mrs. or Miss Smith, who, 
some twenty years ago, had been living in London. This was 
the clew by which we had to seek her. 

And, remembering the noble army of Smiths which enriches 
our fatherland, I with difficulty suppressed a whistle of dismay. 

“ Do you think we shall find her, monsieur ?” the countess 
asked, wistfully, raising her blue eyes to mine. 

I replied that I was determined to do so ; for her face was 
pale and her eyes heavy with unshed tears, and I would not have 
cast a shadow of discouragement over her for the world. 

“ I have a little money,” she continued, more cheerfully — 
“ about fifteen hundred francs. It is very little, but perhaps it 
will suffice until we find her.” 

“ It will suffice,” I answered. And inwardly I bent my back 
to the new burden. 

“ It is only right,” she continued, her fair face flushing, “ that 
monsieur should know a little more about me than he knows at 
present. He might perhaps, otherwise, think of me as an ad- 
venturess.” 

“ Tell me what you choose, comtesse, but I ask to hear noth- 
ing. You need no justification.” 

“ I will tell you all,” she answered, “ if you will have patience 
to listen.” 

And there, in the little salon of the primitive Gasthof in Brun- 
nen, the beautiful countess told me her sad story. I did not 
know then how intimately her life was connected with my own, 
even before our memorable meeting in Lucerne. I know now. 

This story, part as she told it me, part as I heard it afterwards 
from different sources, I shall now proceed to narrate. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

IN SCHLOSS MANDELSLOH. 

“ Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; 
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.” 

Translated by Longfellow from Friedrich von Logan. 

It was in Saxon Switzerland, not far from the beautiful city 
of Dresden, that Katherine Ludovica Theda von Mandelsloh first 
14 


210 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


became conscious of life. From out the confused and misty 
memories of early cliildhood two or three pictures still stand out 
prominently, painted in vivid colors by pleasure and pain. 

Behind these pictures, forming, as it were, their ever-shifting 
background, rise visions of sharply cut hill-tops, piercing a deep- 
blue sky ; broad meadows and narrow vales at their base, through 
which rivulets foamed and fretted or broad streams flowed 
eagerly in their onward striving towards the sea. Stately forest- 
trees — now bright with the fresh green of spring, now red, golden 
and russet brown — grew around and among them ; and thick 
, and dark pine-woods filled the evening air with their spicy odor. 

For sounds there were the tinkling bells of the cattle ; the 
Jodeln of the herdsman ; the deep bay of the hounds ; the gen- 
tle ripple of the rivulets ; the love-sick song of the nightingale ; 
the croaking of frogs in the marshes ; the oncoming sough of 
the hurricane ; the roar of the cataract ; the whir of the spin- 
ning-wheels ; the stern voice of the house’s master ; the gleeful 
songs of the maids ; and, sweetest and best-remembered of all, 
the gentle voice of the mother. 

And these sights and sounds sank into the heart of the child 
and became a part of her. 

Very early, too, came the knowledge of superior rank. Little 
Kathe knew almost before she could speak what it meant to 
be a Countess of Mandelsloh. Whether romping amid the fra- 
grant hay with the maidens, or sitting poppy-crowned on some 
broad shoulder among the reapers — whether gathering with 
numbed fingers snowdrops for the Miitterchen or wandering 
bareheaded among the roses, she was ever conscious of superior 
dignity. And even when tripping by her mother’s side to the 
village church amid the sweet chiming of the bells, and smiling- 
ly returning the salutations of the common folk, she would keen- 
ly notice any omission on their part and proudly resent it. 

For, was it not in the natural order of things that the peasants 
should labor for the high-born? Were they not created to till 
the ground for them, and face for them an enemy’s musketry ? 
*Was it not her home — the still stately Schloss on the hillside, 
its turrets gleaming white against the dark background of the 
woods, and looking down, even in its ruined splendor, forever 
looking down on the humble homes of the people ? These things 
seemed to her the natural sequence of immutable law. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


211 


For how could she know of the mighty change going steadily 
on in the hearts of the down-trodden people ? a change destined 
to shake to its very foundations the so-called rights of the high- 
born ! 

The household consisted of the master, the now rather feeble 
Graf von Mandelsloh ; his daughter, little Kathe’s mother ; one 
man-servant ; two maidens ; and last, not least, a noble boar- 
hound, called Ino — the child’s sole playfellow. 

Of her father Kathe knew nothing. On the few occasions 
when she had spoken of or asked about him, she had been in- 
stantly silenced even by her gentle mother, and once so stern- 
ly by her grandfather that she had not dared to mention him 
again. 

And now comes one of the pictures painted so vividly on her 
memory — painted there by humiliation and pain. 

Part of the castle, now so pitifully reduced from its former 
grandeur, was quite in ruins. To this part Kathe had been for- 
bidden to go, but, childlike, she longed all the more ardently to 
do so, for what is so attractive as the forbidden ? Already, ac- 
companied by Ino, his conscious tail between his legs, she had 
tasted the delights of disobedience, and as yet Retribution was 
in abeyance. But Retribution only bides its time. 

They used to sit there, the child and the dog, both equally 
conscious of wrong-doing, listening to the cry of the owls, or 
starting in terror from the bats, or watching the curious creep- 
ing things, battening on decay, which crept out of chinks and 
crannies in the ruins, looking at them bolder than they, con- 
science-stricken, dared look back. And these creatures — the 
offspring of corruption — seemed to say — at least the child fancied 
so — “ Your time has come and gone ; the turn is now at us, lit- 
tle Frbleny 

It was on one of these occasions that Ino, starting up from a 
doze by the side of his little mistress, uttered a furious bark, in- 
stantly strangled by his perfect consciousness that he must not 
bark in that place. Then Kathe became aware that a stranger 
had approached them, and was gazing at her with a look of in- 
terest which terrified her exceedingly. 

The little countess never forgot the appearance of this stranger. 
He was very beautiful, far more beautiful than any one she had 
ever seen before, and though his face was strange to her, yet it 


212 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


was somehow familiar, too. It was like some other face — whose 
she could not say, hut it was one she knew well. 

lie was tall, this stranger, and his figure was gracefully, al- 
though powerfully, moulded. But what the child noticed most 
was the beauty of his golden hair and bright blue eyes. The 
expression in these eyes repelled and attracted her at the same 
time. And when he smiled, she felt a strange tremble at her 
heart, as if something had touched it that had a right to touch, 
awakening a long-lost echo. 

But Ino was not attracted. His bark had subsided into a low 
growl of fierce defiance, and his teeth were displayed, and he 
stood there, ready to tear the intruder to the ground. 

“ Send the dog away,” said the stranger. Trembling and 
frightened as the child was, she felt constrained to do as she 
was bidden. She bade Ino return to his kennel in the courtyard. 
But the dog, accustomed to obey her every sign, refused to go, 
absolutely. 

“Take him away,” said the stranger, in a sweet, melodi- 
ous voice, wholly dissonant to his words, “ or I shall kill him.” 

Kathe, again awed by the same strange sensations, took Ino 
by the collar, and was leading him away when the stranger 
called after her. 

“ Come back again, you. I want to speak to you.” 

He spoke with the easy confidence of one who was sure of 
submission, and sat down carelessly among the ruins, waiting. 

Kathe, trembling, led the dog back to his kennel and chained 
him there. But this occult power, stronger than her own will 
and desire, forced her to return and stand alone before him. 

She w'as not used to stand thus, while another lay on the 
ground at her feet. Poor and almost ruined as was the high- 
born house of Mandelsloh, its traditions still lingered. Never- 
theless something stronger than her pride kept her where she 
was, awaiting his pleasure. 

His pleasure seemed to be to keep her waiting ; to test to its 
utmost the strange power he felt, and she felt, he had over her. 
Then he said, carelessly and smilingly — with that same smile 
that made her heart throb again — “ You are a good girl, little 
one. At all events, they have taught you to obey.” 

“ They ? What did he mean ?” 

As if he had read the unspoken question in her dilated eyes, 
he answered it : 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


213 


“ The old fool in yonder, Graf Mandelsloh, and hrs too-sub- 
missive daughter.” 

They are my mother and grandfather,” answered the child, 
strangling the sob in her throat. 

“ Are they fond of you !” he asked, abruptly, with that same 
strange smile, so bright and yet so heartless, which fascinated 
while it repelled her. 

Fond of her ? Kathe had never asked herself that question, 
nor could have answered it. They were hers, and she was 
theirs. The same pulse throbbed in their veins; the same 
proud, passionate, yet intensely loving heart beat in their bo- 
soms. 

“ They are my mother and grandfather,” she repeated, falter- 
ingly, and now the great tears began to fall. 

“ Ha ! Yet thou art not like them, except for thy haughty 
carriage and that proud and defiant look in thy blue eyes. Lit- 
tle aristocrat, knowest thou not that your time has come and 
gone, and that the turn is now ours ?” 

He was repeatipg the very words she had heard the lizards 
say, and the bats, and the creeping things about the ruins. Was 
he too born of corruption ? 

“ Thou art going to be beautiful,” he continued, using the 
form of address of an acknowledged superior, and, now rising 
and looking down, his shadow fell upon her. “Very beautiful, 
I should say. Well, little one, they gave thee rank, but they 
did not give thee beauty. And to-day rank is doomed. Trust 
to the beauty, little one ; there is safety in that.” 

Kathe neither understood nor could answer him. 

Suddenly he stooped and took her in his arms. 

“ Kiss me, little one. Nay, do not turn away thy head. I 
am fond of thee too, and soon thou wilt be fond of me. I am 
going to take thee with me.” 

“ Nay, do not struggle,” he continued, looking down smiling- 
ly on her agonized efforts to escape. “ Soon thou wilt love me, 
and I am going to save thee from their fate. Besides, this too 
will be a punishment — a short prelude to a greater punishment 
hereafter.” 

But now the spell was partly broken, and Kathe’s wild scream 
had rung out into the air before he could stop it with his hand 
upon her mouth. 


214 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


A moment later, and, half unconscious, she heard Ino’s furi- 
ous bark and the lash of a horsewhip. Then Jorg, their sole 
retainer, was beside her, and her grandfather had her in his 
arms again. She was saved, and the mysterious stranger gone. 

That very afternoon a stout ancestral rod — always hung, a 
perpetual warning, by the side of the rarely used Kamin — was 
put into requisition, in spite of the tears and entreaties of the 
mother. For Kurt, Graf von Mandelsloh, Freiherr von Oberhu- 
sen, Buttel und Franzensheim, never forgave disobedience, or 
left to uncertain fate a punishment which his own strong right 
arm could administer. 

And this is the first picture which stands out in the countess’s 
memory, eternally al fresco, painted there by terror, pain, and 
mortification ; the mortification greatly enhanced by the com- 
miseration of the maidens and tender-hearted Jorg. 

The second picture is painted in livelier. colors, and sunshine 
from a cloudless sky streams upon the canvas. 

It was Hochsommer, and the limes, heavy with blossom, filled the 
air with fragrance, while a few nightingales still warbled their 
love-songs among the foliage. And it was Jorg’s wedding-day. 

Linda, one of the maidens at the Schloss, was the happy bride, 
and the little countess thought that anything more lovely was 
nowhere to be found. 

Her embroidered bodice was tightly laced over an ample bo- 
som, harboring nothing but good-will. Her long fiaxen hair, 
well oiled, was tightly braided. Her round blue eyes twinkled 
perpetually between smiles and tears, and her plump cheeks 
were as red as peonies — almost as red as the ribbons which 
fastened her hair. 

She wore a short, narrow petticoat, hardly reaching to her 
knees, and revealing garters, wonderfully embroidered, on legs 
that would have done honor to a Scotch Highlander. Upon her 
head, gorgeous and indescribable, sat a crown fit for a queen. 
Nobody but an Altenhurgerin could have worn it without suffer- 
ing martyrdom, but Linda was used to carrying heavy pails of 
water on those fair plaits of hers, and could dance you a jig into 
the bargain without spilling a drop. 

The countess always remembered the walk to the village 
church through the crowd of admiring spectators, and the intox- 
icating scent of the limes. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


215 


“ They always smell strongest before a storm,” some one whis- 
pered, and Kathe looked up to the serene blue sky, with won- 
der at the remark. 

There was plenty of laughing and feasting and dancing and 
merriment that evening in the usually silent great dining-hall of 
the castle, and it might have been only the little countess’s 
fancy that she saw scowling brows, and heard muttered menaces 
through the music. 

It was her own little mother who carried her to bed that 
night. 

“ When shall I be married, my Mutterchen P the child asked, 
while the countess plaited and brushed her thick golden hair. 

“ God forbid that thou shouldst ever marry,” said the lady, 
pressing the child’s head to her bosom, upon which a hot tear 
fell. 

“ Why do you weep, my little mother 2” asked the wonder- 
ing child. ‘‘ Does marriage hurt, like my grandfather’s Birken- 
ruthe P 

But the lady only wept more and did not answer, and the 
sandman came and weighted the child’s eyes and ears till she 
could neither see nor hear. 

Now for the third and last picture in the old ancestral Schloss. 

Kathe was too young to notice how her grandfather’s health 
was failing. She only remembered how querulous he grew, and 
how anxious for news from France. She only remembered how 
he used to sit there muttering, while her mother grew paler and 
paler. 

Sometimes the old count would seem to confound the grand- 
child with her mother, calling her Theda, her mother’s name, 
and summoning her to his side. 

“ I am only Kathchen, grandpapa.” 

“ Kathchen ? Who is she ? It was a boy I wanted, yet I 
grew to love my daughter above all things. She was the apple 
of my eye, mein Herzhldttchen. Ah, she is lost to me !” 

And he would sink into reverie, from which he would rouse 
up furious, cursing some one for having thwarted his desire. 

“ To marry him, the base-born foreigner ! Go ! I know thee 
no more.” 

Then he would add proudly : 

But he acknowledged the claim. For more than once I 


216 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


stood between him and death. Once in the grand-ducal forest 
in Sachsen Meiningen, when I rushed between him and the in- 
furiated boar. Once again, when I received the ball levelled at 
the monarch.” 

And he would add : 

Forget the other name, my Theda. It is thine no longer. 
For he, unser gnddigste Konig^ has granted my request for thee 
and for thy heirs. Thou wilt remain Countess of Mandelsloh. 
I have the royal letters patent.” 

All of which the child could not understand, but infinitely 
dreaded. 

The red sun was slowly linking in the west, and the evening 
meal over. And now Jorg and Linda brought out the spinning- 
wheels for the evening task. The old count had supped heav- 
ily, for the supper had consisted of his Leihgericht — Puffer 
(potato - cakes baked- in oil and served hot and crisp), salad 
made from the celery-root, and stewed plums from the orchard, 
gathered and dried in the autumn. He was now lying on the 
Kanape at the far end of the hall, breathing heavily and ster- 
torously. 

“ Go and kiss the dear hand of thy grandfather, my child,” 
said the grave Countess of Mandelsloh. “ I will take thee to 
thy rest.” 

The whir of the spinning-wheels made a sort of dreamy mu- 
sic, which mingled not discordantly with the deep breathing of 
the old man upon the couch ; and outside, Ina’s deep bay w^as 
heard from time to time. The child never forgot the mingling 
of these sounds and the sensations they awakened. And now 
the maids began to sing : 

“ ’Sgibt nur ’ne Kaiser-Stadt, 

’Sgibt nur ’ne Wien.” 

Alas, how heavily it had nearly cost them, that leaning of 
Protestant Saxony and her Catholic king toward^ the soft, sensu- 
ous arms of demoralized Austria ! 

“ Now, my Herzclien^' said the countess, ceasing her spinning, 
which she had been doing with two hands at once, unlike the 
maids, who only span with one ; while she moistened her thread 
in a basin at her side, they using a handier moisture, afforded 
by their own mouths. “ Now, my Herzchen^ thy time is up.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 217 

Thine too, gentje little lady, thine too, on earth ! 

For what were those shadows on the floor, thrown there by 
the rising moon ? And what was the meaning of that loud cry 
from the maidens ? And now Ino’s fierce, furious bark died 
away in a howl of mortal agony. 

The child had no time to scream, for her mother’s hand was 
on her mouth, and her mother’s sweet voice was saying res- 
olutely, “ Remember that thou art a Mandelsloh, little Kathe.” 
And now the thickening shadows grew into stalwart men, and 
stood armed around them. 

They were all peasants from the village. Kathe knew them 
all, yet knew them not, for they were strangely altered. They 
bowed no knee before the Herrschaften^ nor stood aside to let 
them pass. They had been recreated since yesterday. They 
had become men. 

Men like unto themselves. 

The old count — a moment before weak, helpless, and almost 
unconscious on the Kanape — rose to meet them as quietly as if 
they had only come at his summons to receive “ gracious pun- 
ishment.” His glazed and dimmed eye grew bright and keen, 
as he drew himself up to his magnificent height and stood facing 
them. 

One of the troop, a huge peasant, advanced towards him. 

The child never forgot the look on her grandfather’s face as 
he stood confronting them — one against a hundred. The velvet 
cap had fallen from his white head ; a wonderful light irradiated 
his massive features ; his lip was defiantly curled. 

And he seemed to say : “ This is the work rfor which I was 
born — to suppress such as these. Let me die with my foot in 
the stirrup.” 

“ What is the meaning of this, Johann Faullenzer ?” he asked, 
haughtily. “ Has he forgotten the time, long years ago, when 
he was brought before me to be chastised ? Do his scars want 
renewing ?” 

“ It is forty years ago — just forty years come Martini,” an- 
swered the man, with almost aristocratic dignity and sternness, 
“ since you — you, Graf Mandelsloh — sentenced me for a thought- 
less, foolish act — nothing more — to be tied up and lashed.” 

“ He has a good memory,” answered the count, as coolly as 
if no hundred armed men — armed with the weapons of revolt. 


218 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


flails, hoes, spades, rakes — stood behind ; “ it is exactly, as he 
says, forty years ago.” 

There were muttered curses to be heard as he spoke, and the 
men behind pressed hard upon their leader, while a humpbacked 
cripple, mounted upon the countess’s spinning-wheel and armed 
with her basin, made as if he would have hurled it at the reso- 
lute white head of the speaker. 

Johann’s big, bulldog face paled a little. The old count pro- 
ceeded : 

“ Could he not learn the lesson taught him ? Does he want 
it repeated ?” 

“ It has been learned, Graf Mandelsloh. Ay, and taught to 
others as well. And we are come here to-night — that’s what we 
are come for, Herr Graf — to reward our teacher. Gott haV ihn 
selig /” 

“ Gott haF ihn selig repeated the others. And the cripple 
in the rear laughed, a shrill “ He ! he ! he !” of scorn and 
mockery. 

“I was then only twenty years old, Graf Mandelsloh, and 
had been taught that I owed love and obedience to the hohen 
Herr schaf ten. I was willing to learn. I owed them no grudge 
then. And I was in love with a maiden. We were together 
in the wood, and I had hurled the stick at the hare which crossed 
our path more for frolic than aught else. And for that, Herr 
Graf, you condemned me to the lash and to the dungeon.” 

“ Wilddiehe must be punished,” said the old count, somewhat 
uneasily. 

“ AVeiZe, /m7e,.Count Mandelsloh, and Bauernmddel must die. 
Aennchen drowned herself, foolish Dime., in despair at my dis- 
grace. And my love and respect for the hohen Herrschaften were 
turned to hate.” 

The old count was silent. 

“ A drowned Bauernmddel; ein unterdrucktes Volk ; a whipped 
Bauer ; what is that to the hohen and the hochsten Herrschaften? 
Will it poison the wine they drink or harden the couches on 
which they repose ? But the eyes of the peasant are opened, 
Herr Graf, and he knows now that he has no need to submit. 
The sun which has risen blood-red over France is rising over us 
too ; the bugle-note sounded there has raised a hundred echoes 
all over Germany.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


219 


“ He ought to know, knowing so much,” said the count, 
“ that the cellars in Schloss Mandelsloh have been drained dry 
long ago, and that our Feldhett is harder than his own.” 

“Knock him down, Johann!” shrieked the cripple. “Tell 
him that in another hour the Red Cock, the banner of the peo- 
ple, will be seen far and wide, floating from the turrets of Schloss 
Mandelsloh. Hurrah ! the harvest is there, and Johann, sickle 
in hand, at the head of the reapers.” 

Then there was an onward rush, the old count still standing 
erect as long as his granddaughter could see him. 

After this the picture grows confused and dim. The count- 
ess seems to remember seeing her mother rush forward, her 
long, soft, brown hair floating around her, and seems still to see 
her gentle head upon her father’s heart. 

But Jorg was holding her, so that she could not follow. 

Then cruel voices around her cried : 

‘■‘■Mach' ein Ende zum ganzen verjiuchten Geschlecht! kill the 
brat too !” 

And finally, the vision of a man, beautiful as an angel, with 
bright hair, golden as wheat when it is ripe unto harvest, and a 
voice saying : 

“ If any one hurt a hair of the child’s head, he shall answer 
for it with every inch of his life. The child is mine.” 

And after that nothing more. Except the fancy that she was 
back again among the ruins with Ino by her side, and crawling, 
creeping, wriggling things looking at her and seeming to say : 
“ Your time has come and gone ; it is our turn now, little Frblen." 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

LOUIS l’ ANGLAIS. 

“ La tache de notre propre ccBur est comme le miroir du mal en nons ; plus 
elle s’etend, et plus le miroir devient complet.” — Sainte-Beuve. 

“ Der Schmutz ist glanzend, wenn die Sonne scheinen mag.” — Goethe. 

The next few months of her life little Kathe spent in a sort 
of trance. Many strange and terrible things seemed to pass be- 
fore her, but always as if in vision. 


220 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


The usual course of things was bewilderingly reversed ; bustle 
and fierce gayety came with the shadows of evening, and morn- 
ing sunshine found her companions prostrate and inert. The 
child’s life in Schloss Mandelsloh had been always partially 
overshadowed by a cloud of mystery ; but this new life seemed 
darkness and mystery itself. 

The man who had claimed the little countess as his own after 
the murder of her mother and grandfather was the same myste- 
rious stranger whom she had met in the ruins. He was strik- 
ingly beautiful, yet his beauty, while it fascinated, also terrified 
her. This man bade her call him father. 

“ Come and kiss me, Kathe,” he would say sometimes, draw- 
ing her to his knee, his hot lips redolent with that eau-de-vie 
which was his favorite beverage. Then, when she shrank from 
him, he would add, laughing : 

“ Little aristocrat, when the cursed folly has been driven out 
of thee, thou wilt learn to love me.” 

But he never ill-used her, nor allowed another to do so in his 
presence. And when he was absent she would slink into a cor- 
ner, like a timid dumb animal, conscious that it is only allowed 
to live on sufferance. 

After many a weary night’s journey — they never travelled by 
day — they arrived at last in a great, turbulent, storm-tossed 
city, which Kathe afterwards learned was Paris. There they 
halted. 

Besides the man who called himself the child’s father, and 
who, as she learned afterwards, really w’as her father, were two 
other men, dark-haired, close-shaven, and fierce- eyed. Of these 
men she felt afraid, although they rarely noticed her, mostly 
passing her by in sullen silence except when she was in their 
way. And then they would push her aside, as if she had been 
an insensate log, with a muttered curse. 

There was also a woman, and she, too, was dark-haired and 
fierce-eyed. This woman was the object of Kathe’s most su- 
preme terror, for she instinctively felt that she hated her — 
hated her because she knew that she was in some sense a rival ; 
that she possessed influence where this woman wanted to reign 
alone. 

The child used to wonder, watching this woman from the cor- 
ner to which she had retreated, whether she were beautiful, or 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


221 


what it was that made her father, otherwise so imperious, so 
much under her influence. 

She had great, bold, flashing eyes, varying in color with the 
emotion dominating her — she was always in a passion of emo- 
tion — now they were of a bright hazel, now vivid green, now 
blood-red, and anon black as their pupils. 

These eyes met men’s unabashed, and, combined with full 
red lips, large white teeth, a supple and graceful body, and a 
Parisian aptitude for dressing in the style most becoming to 
her, made up a curious whole — singularly distasteful to the 
refined taste of the child, but apparently very admirable in the 
eyes of the father. 

Not but what they quarrelled often, and that most furiously. 
Mademoiselle de Laffolie was made up of emotions, and with- 
out the daily rage and the daily reconciliation would have 
died. 

And the man loved nothing better than to rouse these emo- 
tions, laughing cynically when the devils he evoked tore and 
rent her. 

They were a strange pair, these two. Sometimes the terrified 
child witnessed horrible scenes between them. Occasionally the 
passionate words of the woman would rouse her companion’s 
wrath, and once roused it knew no limit. He would beat her 
cruelly. 

At other times he would caress and fondle her, and then to 
please him she would caress and fondle the child, calling her 
petit ange'' and the like, and declaring she was the image of 
her father, the most beautiful of men. 

“ I love her like a mother, thy little one, Louis,” she would 
say, clasping the child to a bosom perfect in contour, though 
hard and bony to the touch. 

“ But how sweet is thy tongue, Hortense,” her companion 
would answer, sneeringly, even though his head, maybe, was 
resting on her lap. 

And he would add, with that strange smile of his, which hurt 
and charmed in almost equal proportions : 

“ Drink a little more wine, rria hellCy and change me into a 
scoundrel, whom thou wilt murder yet, and the little one into a 
devil who merits the guillotine — by the by, not a bad escape for 
the victim of thy caprices. Vive la guillotine r 


222 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


They drank together. But the woman’s eyes were flashing 
and her sharp white teeth clenched. 

“ Vive la guillotine P' he repeated. “ Is not she our milking 
cow — our adorable benefactress, by whose aid we will mount — 
thou and I, Hortense — to the top of the ladder ?” 

“ Thou wilt mount that ladder one day, verily, and return no 
more,” she answered, fiercely, her humor changing as he had 
predicted. 

“ Nay, mon ange Farisien^ my good-luck is proverbial. Never- 
theless, I will accompany thee thither and take a moving fare- 
well from thee at its foot. In the meantime may it live and 
flourish !” 

He raised his glass high as he spoke, and seemed, or would 
have seemed, as brimful of enthusiasm as the glass was full of 
wine. Yet his words left behind them a cold and slimy trail 
like that of a serpent, and the concentrated light from his blue 
eyes fell full upon the face of the woman like the dark light of 
a policeman on the watch. 

“ Drink,” he said, “ drink, ma belle amoureuseF 

“ La petite shall drink also,” said Hortense, rapidly, seeking 
out a victim for the rage consuming her. 

“ Assurementy^ he answered, coolly, pouring out a third glass. 
“ Come hither, Kathe. Drink and shout — say it in thine own 
tongue, child — Die Revolution soil lehen ! Die Guillotine hoch 

But Kathe burst out into loud weeping, and with an impatient 
“ Bah !” he pushed her from him. The child returned, sobbing, 
to her corner. She had caught a red gleam, the danger signal, 
shining out from Mademoiselle’s eye, and she knew its meaning. 
The sins of the fathers are eternally visited upon the children. 

Meanwhile in Paris, the passionate heart of the Continent, the 
Revolution raged, sending forth from its fiercely palpitating cen- 
tre fresh streams of maddened blood into the long stagnant veins 
of Europe. If there had been one man, only one, equal to the 
crisis ; capable, not of stemming — that was impossible — but of 
directing the bloody course of the current, Europe, revitalized, 
might have been saved. 

But there was not one prince among the rulers capable even 
of standing upright amid the rush, no Gideon among the people. 
Princes fell prostrate. Petty German electors bought a mo- 
mentary safety by yielding where they should have stood firm. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


223 


as they had hardened themselves when they should have yielded. 
Prince William of Prussia fled from Berlin. Ferdinand of Aus- 
tria abdicated. Louis Philippe had fled to England at the first 
note of alarm, aided by the passports of a Mr. Smith. 

“ With the passport and under the name of Mr. Smith,” said 
Kathe’s father, slapping the cheek of Mademoiselle de Laffolie, 
and in radiant good-humor. “Now, I warrant thee, Hortense, 
thou wouldst never guess how I, chief among his enemies, learned 
that so early.” 

“ Who told it thee ?” she inquired, keenly watching him — her 
eyes narrowed and intent. 

“ Who told it me, ange celeste P he repeated, slowly, watching 
her, too, with those brilliant eyes of his. “ Come and kiss me, 
and take that for thy answer. I am told many things, mo^, but 
I do not repeat them to a woman. Women were made to caress, 
but never to confide in. The man who confides in a woman is 
the most arrant haudet in the world.” 

“ And the woman who believes in a man,” retorted Mademoi- 
selle Hortense, fiercely, “ might as well put her head under the 
falling knife of the guillotine.” 

“ Thinkest thou ?” he replied, coolly. There were times when 
he loved nothing better than to excite this woman to frantic fury. 
“ Then don’t believe, Hortense.” 

And he added, with that maddening smile of his : 

“ Thy head is too handsome to feel the guillotine yet. Wait 
a while, till I am tired of thee.” 

“ Ingrat she said, but she said it gently, for he had drawn 
her to his knee and was smiling as he caressed her ; “ where wouldst 
thou have been but for me ?” 

“ Somewhere, doubtless,” he replied, with a yawn ; Pm not 
particular. I’ve a trick of falling on my feet ; and I’ve a trick 
that’s worth two of that — I know how to manage a woman.” 

After this manner they would quarrel and make it up again. 
Monsieur 1’ Anglais (by this name he was known to the dark, secret, 
close-shaven men who came to confer with him) playing with 
this woman the double game he played with the people and with 
the sovereign — with danger and with death; and he played it 
unto the end. 

For Louis 1’ Anglais was nothing more than an unscrupulous 
adventurer. 


224 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


There was not much good in Mademoiselle de Laffolie, hut 
there was one great virtue. She could love, and he could not. 
Although many a time he ti'eated her worse than a dog, she 
clung to him with all a dog’s fidelity. More than once she held 
his life in her hand. 

But she bore with him, forgave him, until the final offence 
which struck at the root of her one virtue and turned the foun- 
tain of her love into a deadly poison. 

Even then she shared his fate, dying upon his bosom. 

The storm-tossed hearts of the people had finally beaten 
themselves numb against the iron barriers forged by wealth and 
power. They grew quiet at last. New voices, loudest among 
them Monsieur I’Anglais’s, were heard in the streets and in the 
faubourgs. Vive Napoleon P’’ succeeded to, and finally over- 
powered, “ Vive la Rholution P' 

So it was that the fruit he lusted for ripened under the sunny 
sky of France, and when the ex-prisoner of Ham landed at 
Boulogne, it was with a sigh of satisfaction that many a weary 
heart in the capital heard of the eagle which had flown to meet 
him and settled on his head. 

“ An omen from above,” they cried, for Paris longed to feel 
the pressure of a firm heel again. She had had “ assez des rho- 
lutionsy 

“ It is a sign from above, Hortense,” Monsieur I’Anglais had 
said, forestalling the people. “ Vive Napoleon P' 

“ Thou wouldst cry, thou, ‘ Vive le hon Dieu P if Satan ceased 
to be of service to thee,” answered Hortense. “ There is not a 
drop of true blood in thee, Louis. But what about the bacon 
in the prince’s hat ?” she continued, “ and who tamed the eagle ?” 

And she laughed, the hysterical laugh of a wounded heart. 

But why follow the details of this ever-recurring strife ? Soon 
the little countess, by the mercy of God, was removed into a 
healthier atmosphere. 

The coup d' Hat, which speedily followed the proclaiming of 
the third Napoleon as President of the Republic, raised Louis 
I’Anglais to a very different position. He no longer lived in a 
remote street, but in the centre of one of the great boulevards, 
where Hortense, now called Madame I’Anglais, “ entertained ” 
to her heart’s content. 

Nay, more than this. For some unexplained service Louis 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


225 


1’ Anglais was ennobled by a grateful emperor, and received the 
title of Comte de Grise. He had worn gray on the occasion 
when he met a greater adventurer than himself on the pier at 
Boulogne, and had been jocularly accosted by him as Monsieur 
Couleur de Gris. Hence his title. 

But poor Hortense never rose beyond Madame 1’ Anglais. 
Many of the greatest gentlemen of the new court came to her 
receptions, but the ladies accompanying them had nothing where- 
with to reproach their hostess. She was to the full as honor- 
able as they. 

Now, as only child of the Comte Louis de Grise, and also, by 
virtue of royal letters patent. Countess of Mandelsloh in her own 
right, it became necessary to care a little for Kathe’s education. 
She was sent to a convent school. 

Fortunately the choice was a good one. The little countess 
received excellent teaching and made rapid progress. Several 
peaceful and happy years succeeded. And so she grew into a 
tall demoiselle of seventeen. 

One morning she was hastily summoned to the Lady Superior. 
She obeyed without emotion. The current of her life had flowed 
so peacefully of late that the painful recollections of her mur- 
dered mother and grandfather and the horrible life she had led 
afterwards were partially obliterated. 

It was a letter from her father which awaited her. It com- 
manded her instant return. 

With a trembling heart she obeyed. She had not seen him 
since she had left him for the convent. But with the proud 
resolution which was an integral part of her character, she kissed 
her companions, embraced the Lady Superior, and, accompanied 
by one of the sisters, returned to Paris. There the sister left 
her. 

The Count Louis de Grise was alone in his grand hotel, lying 
upon a silken couch; his golden hair damp and tangled, his 
blue eyes bloodshot and haggard. 

“ Tiens^ que tu es devenue belle^ ma jille^'' he said. “ It is I 
whom thou resemblest, Kathe. Thy mother was dark and ugly.” 

“ She was an angel,” answered his daughter, roused by the 
strength of her love. And his cruel words did what the kind 
ones at the convent had failed to do — they loosed the iron bands 
round her heart, and she wept. 

15 


226 


TllliOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Sit down,” he said, disregarding her emotion. “ I have 
something to tell thee. Last night I had a dream, but I did not 
dream that I was an angel — ” 

He broke off suddenly, and the thick drops stood upon his 
brow. 

“Bah!” he continued, fortifying himself with a draught from 
a glass at his elbow. “ Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un rhe ? Trdume 
sind Schdume^ as they say yonder in Germany. To be inter- 
preted by contraries.” 

And he smiled. But his smile had lost its attraction and 
only retained its horror. 

“ Dost thou ever dream, Kathe ?” 

“ Yes, my father.” 

“ Didst thou ever dream that thou wast dead ?” That all was 
over? That superior cunning could avail thee no more?” 

“ No, I never dreamed that.” 

“ Oh, it was horrible. To be tied hand and foot, and know 
it was forever. To be conquered, not by skill, but by sor- 
cery.” 

“ Perhaps you are ill, my father. Let me stay and nurse you. 
I — I am your daughter ; I have the right to do that. Let me 
stay and learn to love you.” 

“ Thou, thou too ?” he answered. “ I knew thou wouldst learn 
to love me. They all do. They cannot help it.” 

And he smiled his old triumphant smile for a moment, but it 
speedily faded. 

His daughter stood aloof, aghast that not one impulse in her 
tempted her to approach him nearer. He went on : 

“ I dreamed that I was dead, yet, though I was powerless to 
move, I could both see and hear. 

“ And I saw a woman standing beside me, a little woman with 
a face like mine and thine, only not so beautiful. And I could 
see right through this woman into her heart, and it was white 
as snow.” 

His daughter still stood aloof, gazing at him. And he trembled 
as he returned her gaze, seeming to see something terrible even 
in the frightened eyes of his child. He went on slowly, speak- 
ing as if in self-communing : 

“ Then I saw in the centre of that pure heart one bleeding 
spot. And I knew the hand that made it. 


THROUGH LOVR TO LIFE. 


227 


“ She stooped over me, this woman, and said, in a low, sweet 
voice : 

“ ‘ Louis, now that thou art dead, give thy innocent child to 
me.’ 

“ ‘ What dost thou know about my child, Mary ?’ I said. For 
I knew who she was. 

“ But she did not answer me, and now a thick vapor envel- 
oped her and hid her from my sight, and the spell seemed gone, 
and I could move again. Where she had stood something was 
lying on the ground, covered with a cloth. 

“ I drew off the cloth and looked, and it was an image of my- 
self, the face white and ghastly, the golden hair red with blood.” 

The color had died out of his face as he spoke, and his eyes 
grew fixed and glassy. 

“ I forgot,” he said, hoarsely ; “ I forgot that I must die.” 

After this he rallied, and said, with an effort of gayety : 

“ I know what the vision meant. I am to be dead to thee 
henceforth. I am to send thee to her. And I will,” he added, 
with a virtuous air. “ Thou shalt make atonement ?” 

“ Am I to go now, my father ?” 

“ As soon as I can make arrangements. I must tell thee first 
a little about myself. I am going to be married. Canst keep 
a secret, child ? And Hortense is gone ; she shall not ill-treat 
thee any more.” 

He said this as if he had made a sacrifice of her for his dauofh- 
ter’s sake, playing the old double game even with his own soul. 
Then he added, hardly conscious that he was giving himself the 
direct lie : 

“It is she who is dead. She grew old and ugly, child, and 
her tears wearied me.” 

He then bade his daughter fetch a casket from an adjoining 
table. 

“ See,” he said, “ this is for thee, Kathe. There are a few 
things in it that will be of value to thee. And it contains the 
address of the woman to whom thou must go. Tell her I sent 
thee.” 

“ Where is it I am to go, my father ?” 

“ To England. I was born there, in a dark hole of a place in 
London. I ran away. If I had not, I should have killed him. 
And I came here with a friend, who knew how to coin stones 


228 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


into gold. He died on the guillotine. I die — no, live — as 
Comte de Grise. I was ever luckier than he. 

“ ’Twas in Bad Elster that I met thy mother. I got into 
trouble there, and she saved me. They can’t resist me, the 
women. More than one has died for me. Thou wouldst too,^ 
child, if I strove to bewitch thee. But I don’t. Par le hon Dieu, 
I’d rather see thee turning from me as thou art turning now. 

“Not that I love thee. Love — what is love! Did Theda 
love me ? Does Hortense ? I should define it, I think, as a mix- 
ture of passion and extreme credulity, of which only women are 
capable, and which grows in exact proportion to the unworthi- 
ness of its object. I have tried to kill it often, sometimes out 
of curiosity, to see what the incorporeal thing could bear. Neg- 
lect is nourishment upon which it fattens ; cruelty is its strong- 
est stimulant ; and to murder is to recreate it. Again and again 
I have seen it arise from a grave, full of new and vigorous life. 

“The only love I know is something resembling remorse. 
The only wrong I repent of is that done to her. Others pretend 
to be good. She was good. But I give thee to her. Thou 
shalt atone. 

“ I married thy mother in Berlin. She was a great lady, and 
marriage was necessary — comprends-tu ? Thou, too, wert bom 
in the ‘ Stadt der Vernunft.’ 

“But the old man was inexorable. Harborage for her and 
the child, but guerre a outrance with Louis 1’ Anglais. Well, he 
has had it. I’ve been his evil genius ever since. And now he 
is dead. 

“ I told them to save her. I did. And if Johann Faullenzer 
hadn’t perished in the mUk he’d have died under the lash of 
my vengeance. Ha ! I worked him up well for the heroics. 

“ I am tired. I have only another word to say to thee. Keep 
thy own title, it is thine. In that casket are papers containing 
the deed wherein the King of Saxony, in acknowledgment of 
thy grandfather’s services, allows the title, in default of male 
issue, to descend on the female side. I am but a creature of 
the new empire, and it will not last long. I heard strange things 
in Berlin when I was there as agent for the French revolutionists, 
and scattered broadcast over Deutschland’s Auen the seeds of 
anarchy. 

“ My mother was a Frenchwoman. There is a portrait of her 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


229 


in the casket. I took it with me. It may serve for thy identi- 
fication. I am to be married in a week, and then thou shalt go 
to England.” 

Here the count stopped, motioning to his daughter to leave 
him. She had been listening with ever-increasing horror, every 
fibre within her quivering from the intensity of her repulsion. 
Now this horror was deepened by a vague impression that some 
one else was listening too. The curtain at the head of his couch 
moved slightly ; the air seemed suddenly suffused with sulphur- 
ous vapor. Almost choking, she hurried away. 

The count sank back again upon his silken couch. He had 
talked away his fear and his remorse. His lips smiled. His 
blue eyes sparkled. His attitude was full of voluptuous ease. 

The next morning all Paris rang with news of a great tragedy. 
In his own magnificent hotel, Louis, Comte de Grise, had been 
found dead in the arms of a woman — a mistress whom he had 
abandoned. 

Louis 1’ Anglais had learned that love may mean more than 
credulity and passion. It may also mean death. 

After the state of bodily and mental incapacity which suc- 
ceeded her father’s death, Katherina, Countess of Mandelsloh, 
found herself almost destitute. Her father’s goods were claimed 
by creditors. Her letters to London were returned to her by the 
post officials. She wrote to the Lady Superior of the convent 
where she had been educated, but she was dead. 

It was then that, after much seeking, aided by a Monsieur de 
Laffolie, who assumed a sort of protectorship over her, she ob- 
tained employment as dame de compagnie to a Hungarian princess. 
And so she became acquainted with Prince Eberhard and learned 
to love him. 

Learned to love him before she knew how impossible it would 
be for her tender conscience to sanction the love. And for 
Countess Katherina to love once was to love always. 

She told me afterwards what was the meaning of that expres- 
sion on her face when she turned and looked at me on the prome- 
nade in Lucerne. She had been struggling with her fate until, 
like a little bird in the snare of the fowler, she was getting worn 


230 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


out with the struggle. Nothing seemed left but the cruel waters 
of the lake, and her young life shrank from that alternative. 

“I had just been imploring God,” she said, “to save me 
from a fate towards which everything seemed driving me — 
my own traitor heart foremost of all — when I lifted up my 
weary eyes, monsieur, and saw you. And from that moment I 
felt I was saved.” 

It was impossible to misunderstand her, even for the vainest 
of men. Her sweet blue eyes were full of unspeakable inno- 
cence and purity. 

“You saw that your enemy had become mine too, countess, 
did you not? And that you might escape him while he was 
dealing with me ?” 

“ Not exactly, monsieur. I thought I saw my father again, 
young, and good, and full of generous impulse. I should not 
have been amazed at a miracle, I was so full of passionate prayer 
for help. And, monsieur, you are wonderfully like him.” 

“ And you, countess, are as wonderfully like a sister of mine. 
You remind me of her continually ; only that she is as merry as 
a cricket.” 

“ While I am dull and moping,” she answered, smiling sadly. 
“ Ah, monsieur, I have not had much to make me gay.” 

“You shall learn to be gay at home with Aileen,” I said cheer- 
fully. “ And I mean to find this Mrs. or Miss Smith if she is 
in the land of the living. By the way, the name is something 
like my own. Suppose we are relations; that would account 
for these strange resemblances !” 

Her face brightened. She looked at me with sudden hope, 
then shook her head. 

“ Ah, monsieur, such joy is not for me. But I will not repine. 
At any rate, I have found a friend.” 

And I vowed that I would find a home for her before making 
one for myself. But I vowed it silently. 

The next day we started for England. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


231 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A SMALL HOUSE AT CLAPHAM. 

“ Woman’s will may — may be broken 
Is her husband only wise : 

Let no useless word be spoken, 

Reasons, theories, she’ll despise : 

All her logic springs from love ; 

Kisses — tears, her cause must prove.” 

Translated from Bodenstedt. 

In due time, with an infernal scream and roar, our train rushed 
into the great terminus, and cast us out into the fog of London. 

The countess clung to my arm, her timid eyes raised confid- 
ingly to mine. From henceforth the burden of another’s life — 
another’s fate — was upon me. 

I took her to a quiet, respectable hotel between Pall Mall and 
Piccadilly ; then got a long, long sleep, and awoke full of vigor 
and resolution. Some orderly hand had been arranging every- 
thing in the chaos of my brain. I knew now what I had to do, 
and determined to lose no time in doing it. 

First, then, I had to dress with unwonted care, for I was go- 
ing to call upon a lady whom I was very desirous to please. I 
stopped in the street to buy a chrysanthemum for my button- 
hole, and smiled as I thought of the astonished eyes of Ai- 
leen. 

For it was towards Clapham that I journeyed — at Clapham 
that I finally landed, my face flushing, my heart beating high 
with expectation. 

At last I stood before a tiny house, distinguishable among its 
neighbors by the almost audacious masculinity of its appearance. 
For on its front was a brass plate^ on which were inscribed these 
words : 

GERALD MALCOLMSON, 

Architect. 

My first knock was unanswered. I knocked again a good deal 
louder — a regular rat-a-tat-tat. 


232 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


I soon became sensible to my finger-tips — informed thereof 
by that sense within us as yet undignified by a name — that this 
unwonted summons had caused more than one neighboring cur- 
tain to be hastily drawn aside, and brought more than one pair 
of feminine eyes to be inquisitively fixed upon the stranger. 

Then I heard the sound of approaching feet. The color rose 
to my cheek, and I began to tremble. 

How is it that we are so awkward and embarrassed when we 
meet friends after long separation ? It may be that a crowd of 
strangers could not discompose us, but one familiar eye can do 
it easily. 

But it was not Aileen who opened the door, keeping it cau- 
tiously on the chain. It was a stranger. 

I inquired for Mrs. Malcolmson — giving Aileen her married 
name with a singular sense of how far it took her from me. 

“ Missus was out.” 

I inquired further, with a sinking, yet, somehow, relieved 
heart, for Mr. Malcolmson. 

“ Master, too, was out.” 

At this crisis, with somewhat embarrassed impetuosity, I inter- 
posed a hand to prevent the door being unceremoniously closed 
in my face. The woman inside, no whit embarrassed, contem- 
plated that hand with unconcealed suspicion, and appeared to 
wonder whether the law would justify her in squashing it. 

Could she tell me where they were to be found ? 

Questioned one didn’t know. 

Or when they would return ? 

Questioned one didn’t know that either. 

My anger rose. My voice, too, rose a trifle with it as I said : 
“I am a relative of Mrs. Malcolm son’s. Open the door.” 

Now, a decided command has this remarkable quality : it con- 
tains within itself both cause and effect. Speak as if disobedience 
were an impossibility, and I’ll stake my head you will be obeyed. 

The woman drew back the chain sullenly enough and opened 
the door. I entered. 

To the right hand of the Lilliputian passage, from which arose 
a flight of stairs, steep and straight as a ladder, was a door, 
slightly ajar. “ I will wait for your mistress,” I said again to 
the maid with the same decisive peremptoriness ; “ in the mean- 
time go about your business. I need not detain you.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


233 


As I spoke, I pushed the door further open, and went boldly 
into the room whose entrance it guarded. 

It already contained two living occupants, both faintly visible 
by the feeble ray of a solitary lamp which, half concealed under 
a green shade, stood upon a round table — the centre-piece of the 
tiny room ; both also revealing their presence by certain sounds. 
A canary warbled a low song in the twilight obscurity ; a hu- 
man being gave slow utterance to the deep, regular breathing 
of profoundest sleep. 

My audacity in thus forcing an entrance was getting punished 
already. Good heavens ! what if I had got into the wrong 
house ! 

The maid was gone. I was left at my own command, to my 
own resources — an unhallowed intruder into a sanctuary ! 

I slightly shifted the shade over the lamp, letting its rays fall 
full upon the face of the sleeper. 

It was that of an old lady, sunk low in an easy-chair drawn 
up before the dying embers on the hearth. Her hands lay 
loosely folded upon the knitting on her lap (not the gray stock- 
ing of Switzerland, but something soft and fleecy, ivory-white and 
rosy red), the monotonous color of her dark gray gown agree- 
ably relieved by a snow-white apron, equally snowy muslin collar, 
and high-crowned Quaker-looking cap. 

Now, old age, as a rule, is no beautifier. It dims the eye, sal- 
lows and wrinkles the once smooth skin, robs the bright hair of 
its gloss. Old Age, too, man-like, is harder on women than on 
men. 

But it was God who had beautified the placid face before me. 
Nature — that wayward sculptress — had chiselled the features 
carelessly ; the upper lip too long, the nose too short, the chin 
a trifle too massive. But love, and pureness of heart, and pa- 
tient long-suffering, had made the face so beautiful that it looked 
almost holy as it lay there upon the pillow in the calm uncon- 
sciousness of sleep. The eyes had shed many tears — witness 
the deep rills which marked the course of their currents. Yet 
every line bore emphatic testimony to the beauty of the soul. 
The hand of relentless Old Age had faltered on approaching this 
woman ; only with his lips had he touched her, and that like 
a lover, brightening the bloom upon her soft cheek with his 
kisses. 


234 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


I looked and looked again, ravished, and could not choose 
but look. In my ears rang the echo of a long-forgotten lullaby. 
Upon my cheek burned kisses, like none that I had felt for 
years. Before my mental eyes rose a spiritual presence. Mem- 
ory stirred within me, striking long untouched chords upon my 
heart, the deep vibrations of which shook me to my centre. 

I went nearer. I knelt down before the sleeper. I examined 
her lineaments with the keenest anxiety. The hair, rebelling 
against the restraint of the cap, fell over the low, broad brow in 
well-remembered ripples. The wrinkled hands, softly sunk in 
the rosy web upon her knee, were like — oh. Heaven ! — so like 
others, the firmest, the tenderest 1 had ever known. And — 
good God ! — a drowsy bluebottle hummed in the high crown of 
her venerable head-covering. 

At this final discovery. Memory, in agitated haste, poured a 
strong acid over words almost obliterated. Clear, black, dis- 
tinct, they stood out before me : “ Let the cruel thing that 
weaned a brother from a sister answer that.” 

I burst out into loud sobbing. I threw my arms around my 
dear, dear old nurse. I laid my head upon the bosom that had 
been my childhood’s only and unfailing solace. I thanked God 
for his boundless mercy. He had taken my friend — my heart’s 
father — from me ; had given me instead my soul’s mother once 
more. 

“ My dearest Charley, I don’t like to mar our almost perfect 
happiness by scolding you, but a good housewife always has one 
eye on duty, and I really must, you know.” 

Thus, an hour later, Aileen. 

Scene : a dining-room, five feet by four. That is to say, on con- 
sideration, it must be a trifie larger, but it really does not look so. 
Talk about cats, you couldn’t swing a kitten in that room, unless 
it were a Manx one, without imminent danger to that kitten’s 
brains. How a table has been got into it I don’t know — per- 
** haps by the same process that the apple gets into the dumpling. 
How a sofa — so fragile-looking that I wouldn’t sit upon it for 
worlds — and various chairs got there is for me an impenetrable 
mystery. Perhaps the ceiling is movable, and they were let 
down. I look up at said ceiling with some alarm as this thought 
suggests itself, especially as an elephant is promenading above 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


235 


us. I don’t know how he got there either, hut feel sure it must 
be an elephant, until Aileen, laughing a little, says it is Margery. 

Third matter for contemplation : how did we four average-sized 
human beings get into, and how do we manage to live in, this 
room? I am, it is true, occasionally sensible of a constriction 
in the throat resembling suffocation, but I do not think it is 
from want of air. I suppose, too, I came in at the door, though 
now, looking back at it, it seems a physical impossibility. I 
might be anxious concerning my exit, only that as yet I have 
not the smallest desire to go. Yet this Euclidical problem — a 
very Asses’ Bridge of difficulty — does occur to me : if the door 
was the tightest of fits before^ what will it be after ^ tea ? 

For I am sitting at Aileen’s board for the first time ; my legs 
very quiet under the table, and also under strict injunctions not 
to move with any degree of abruptness. A general overturn, it 
is evident, would be the result of disobedience. Aileen is at 
the head of this table, pouring out tea. Aileen’s husband is at 
its foot, cutting up bread. I have Aileen’s authority for assert- 
ing that he is his house’s master and hers. I have the authority 
of my own observations and power of combination for asserting 
with at least equal tenacity that upon his neck is the foot of a 
little mistress. Never be ashamed of that, Gerald Malcolmson ! 
Love is the greatest restraining as well as the greatest propelling 
power on earth or in heaven. I defy any learned professor of 
the British Association, though he be immersed in electricity 
and all the rest of it to his learned ears, to find me a greater. 

Opposite me, on the above-mentioned sofa, sits my nurse, her 
face, like mine, bright with smiles — smiles so replete with emo- 
tion that at any moment they may return to their primeval source 
and become tears again. 

“ I really must, you know,” sayS Aileen. 

“Go ahead, Aileen,” encourages her husband, as she pauses 
to shake her lovely little head at me ; during which by no means 
alarming performance, her curls, now confined with a matronly 
comb, tumble in a golden shower about her. “ He won’t mind 
it. If he’s like me, he’ll rather like it.” 

“ Like it, sir ? — Take some toast, nursey darling. I made it 
myself — soft for your poor old teeth. You can’t live on your 
boy, you know. Gerald, you neglectful creature ! call yourself 
a host! don’t you see Charley — half starved, no doubt, poor, 


236 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


dear fellow! in those barbarous foreign countries — is eating 
nothing ? Kippered herrings, dear ? I never heard of them till I 
was married, but they really are mo-ost savory. Like it ! You’d 
like, I dare say, to see me wasting away to skin and bone with 
useless reprimand.” 

“ I shouldn’t like it at all,” says her husband, laughing, and 
looking admiringly at her plump little figure, “ but, fortunately, 
at present there are no symptoms.” 

“ What, sir 1 do you mean to tell me I’m getting fat ? I’d 
Banting myself directly if I thought there was the remotest 
probability of such a catastrophe ; or make you give me draw- 
ing-lessons again. Ah, Charley dear, you can’t conceive how 
reducing they are ! I hadn’t been learning a fortnight before 
mamma’s maid had to take in all my dresses. Is your tea as 
you like it, Charley ? I take loads of sugar myself, but Gerald 
doesn’t. Try some marmalade. Gerald dear” (anxiously), “ sugar 
has risen a halfpenny in the pound.” 

This terrible commercial perplexity bringing a faint shadow 
on Aileen’s smooth young brow, I seek to disperse it. 

“ When am I to get the scolding, little sister? I can’t enjoy 
my tea till it is over.” 

“Ah, you don’t expect to like it, then ! That is right. When 
I scold people I want them to mind it ; to be hurt by it ; to dread 
it ; to tremble in expectation of it.” 

“ By Jove 1 it must be something awful.” 

“ So it is. You may laugh, Gerald, but I read once, in one 
of mamma’s novels, of the ‘ hollow laugh of terror and despair 1’ ” 

“ Goodness !” 

“ No, sir, badness. Atrociousness. What do you mean by 
breaking into our house like a midnight thief, without so much 
as a note or a telegram beforehand to put us on our guard ?” 

“ ’Twas a long way from midnight, Aileen,” I venture timidly 
to observe. 

(It is odd how completely Aileen’s marriage has turned the 
tables against me. I wouldn’t venture to hector her now for 
anything, but it seems she may venture to hector me, and pretty 
smartly, too.) 

“ Stick to the point, sir, if you can. Gerald can’t. Just the 
tiniest little slip of a false word, and down he pounces on it, 
as if it were the gist of the whole matter. Pray, must a' thief 


through love to life. 23 V 

come exactly when the clock strikes twelve to be a midnight 
one ?” 

“ No, Aileen, but — ” 

“No huts, sir — like a midnight thief, I say, frightening Mar- 
gery to that degree that she shook after it (she told me so) like 
a ‘hasping leaf.’ Fm not botanist enough,” continues Aileen, 
looking at her rosy finger-tips refiectively, “to know precisely 
what sort of leaf that is, but, anyhow, Fm sure it must be one 
that shakes terribly.” 

We laugh so uproariously at this that, I am sure, we must 
have alarmed the neighbors. I haven’t laughed like that for 
months, almost years ; but this happy, joyous home is doing me 
all the good in the world. 

Aileen’s rosebud of a mouth protrudes itself into an unmis- 
takable pout. 

“ I dare say it’s very natural for a man to make game of his 
wife’s ignorance,” she says, pretending to be vexed ; “ but, see- 
ing he took her for better or worse, and knew what a silly girl 
she was beforehand — and Fm sure she never pretended to know 
anything — I think ’twould be more manly and more generous to 
stick up for her.” 

Her husband’s countenance expressing the deepest contrition, 
Aileen springs up from her tea-tray, heedless of the capsized 
cream -jug, to stroke it caressingly, and lay her own rosy one 
forgivingly against it. 

“ He looks so ugly when he is cross,” she remarks, in an ex- 
planatory tone ; adding, as she returns to her seat, rosier than 
ever : 

“ Well, Charley dear, have you any excuse to offer for your 
misdemeanor ?” 

“ Only this, Aileen, that I knew you would make me welcome 
at any time.” 

“ That’s a very pretty answer, for which I am sure Gerald will 
let me give you a kiss. There !” — giving it — “ offence number 
one forgiven and forgotten. And how for number two.” 

“ Is there another ?” 

“ Certainly. A much worse one. Nursey, dear, don’t look at 
me like that. I mean to scold him. He deserves no mercy. 
I’m sure he nearly frightened you to death.” 

“ He didn’t frighten me a bit,” answers my nurse, smiling 


238 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


faintly. “I had been dreaming of them both — my long-lost 
boys. And then I seemed to see them both — so much alike, 
and yet so different. Ah ! will he ever come back to me ?” 

My nurse’s voice has sunk into the monotonous tone of solil- 
oquy, and from her eyes, directed downwards, one or two drops 
fall heavily. I look at Aileen, anxious and amazed. Aileen 
looks back at me, and slightly shakes her curly head again, a 
rosy finger on her rosy lips. 

“ Nevertheless, dear,” she continues, “ though, fortunately, as 
far as we can see yet^ no very serious result is to be apprehended, 
it was quite enough to frighten her into fits. I don’t approve 
of servants listening behind doors or peeping through keyholes 
as a rule^ but I cannot scold Margery, under the circumstances, 
for keeping the house door open, her heart in her mouth and 
her eye at the keyhole, all the time you were there. ‘ Which, 
mem,’ she said (she calls me mem, Charley, and is really a most 
invaluable servant, and such a cook, but not quite a Lindley Mur- 
ray), ‘ which, mem, when I see him down upon his knees afore her, 
and she sleeping like a babby, I were that mortal certing that 
he was either a roaring madlam or a-going to wilful murder her, 
that I should have screeched myself mad too, only that the 
strength were took out of me in spasms.’ ” 

Aileen offering no explanation of this extraordinary speech, I 
think Margery must have got confused between madman and 
Bedlam. This is simply a suggestion. 

“ I don’t exactly know what she meant , continues Aileen, 
looking admonishingly at her laughing husband ; “ there’s so 
much in Margery that she is hard to understand sometimes ; but 
I know this, that if I had been taking an afternoon nap, and 
had awakened to find a man at my feet, I should have had 
spasms myself, or something quite as bad.” 

“ I hope you would,” says Mr. Malcolmson, promptly, “ unless 
it had been I.” 

“ ‘ The verb to be, with all its variations,’ ” corrects Aileen, in 
triumph. “ Ah, it isn’t only poor Margery who is no Lindley 
Murray. Now, Charley, if you are very penitent, and promise 
never to do it again under any circumstances, you shall — ” 

“ Have another kiss,” concludes her husband. 

“ Certainly not. My kisses are not so cheap, as you’ll find 
out next time you want one, sir ; little enough you’d care about 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


239 


them if they were — shall take me into the drawing-room, I 
mean. We call it a drawing-room, Charley, though it is so small. 
Gerald, you bring nursey. Stoop your head, dear, or you’ll 
bump it. That’s the good of being short. What a big, awk- 
ward fellow you are ! And who told you to grow that love of a 
moustache ? Quite distinguished-looking, but not twisted prop- 
erly ; it ought to curl up a little at the ends — just a thought, you 
know. Bear’s-grease won’t do it, you must get something sticky 
— I forget its name. Let me twist it, and fasten your necktie. 
Oh, the helpless creatures you men are, your fingers all thumbs, 
and never able to dress properly without a woman to help you ! 
That’s what you marry for, I think. There, now, with a new 
waistcoat and better-cut pair of — goodness ! do you think I’ve 
no bones? — you may go in at an easy canter for the duke’s 
daughter.” 

“ I’ll wait awhile before I do that, Aileen.” 

“ Will you — are you — why do you look so proud, and yet so 
sad, Charley ? That kiss was not for me, I know ; it was meant 
for other lips, and burns upon mine like a confession. That 
look was not for me, either ; it goes through me, passing on 
yearningly to some one far away. Your heart is not beating 
quicker at my touch, it is throbbing at the thought of another. 
Tell your sister, dear ; she can sympathize, for she knows what 
it is.” 

“ Not now. Some time, perhaps, Aileen.” 

“ I’ve seen it in you all the evening, but I couldn’t speak until 
we were alone. You went away a bonny boy ; you have come 
home a bonnier man, my brother. Your smile is different. 
Your eyes have learned to weep.” 

As she raises her own blue eyes and chattering little mouth 
to mine I see a great change in her, too — the bud of promise 
expanded into a sweeter fiower than I had ever anticipated. 
Our lips meet again as they never met before. Malcolmson is 
a fellow of sense ; he lingers still behind us, while we, under 
cover of the solitude and passage twilight, indulge in the warm- 
est of fraternal hugs. 

We are again seated in the Lilliputian drawing-room. Aileen, 
upon a low chair on one side of the brightened hearth, listens 
now, as charming a little listener as she was a talker awhile 
ago. A silver thimble fiashes brightly hither and thither in the 


240 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


combined light of lamp and fire ; a steel needle accompanies it. 
She is making something too small and fine and flimsy to be 
intended as a garment for herself or her husband, or, certainly, 
for Margery. Perhaps it is a pocket-handkerchief, but I hardly 
think so. I vaguely wonder what it is, as I sit watching her 
sweet, now grave, little face, upon which the flickering firelight 
throws strange lights and shadows. She is greatly changed. I 
see it plainly now. A new earnestness on her brow, a new light 
in her eye, a new tenderness in her smile ; the girlish gleeful- 
ness tempered by the wife’s gracious dignity. I see a tear spar- 
kle in her blue eye, slowly roll unheeded down her cheek, fall 
gently upon the soft white material in her hand, and vanish there. 
It is not a tear of sadness — the proud, the tender smile trembling 
round her pure young lips destroys all fear of that. The sweet 
perfume of the opened floweret thrills my soul with gladness, 
and also with a passionate yearning. 

My nurse, too, whose very presence in the room seems to fill 
it with a blessing, though she scarcely speaks a word, has — 
seated on the same easy -chair where I found her sleeping — 
taken up the rosy web again, and rapidly it spins and grows 
under her busy fingers. It seems to take a shape familiar to 
me. I am sure I have seen her knitting things of like fashion 
in the old, dismal nursery. Vaguely, still talking, I wonder for 
whom they are intended. 

I tell my brother-in-law all about the fair countess. I answer 
a quick, inquiring glance from Aileen’s eye with a smiling neg- 
ative. I tell them — the women crying, both, in sympathy — the 
story of Moppert’s love and loss. I speak of my long illness 
and its cause, and of the good man who saved me ; ask their 
advice and counsel concerning my beautiful eharge ; but never 
once mention Therese — never once. 

When I finally stop, Aileen stops too, gently puts down her 
work, rises, and comes over to her husband. 

He draws her arm within his, and she rests her sunny head 
upon his shoulder. 

“ Gerald, dear !” 

“ Well, my pet ?” 

“ Our home is but a little one ; a very, very little one.” 

“ Has it grown too small for you, Aileen ?” 

“ No, no, no ! I would not change it for a king’s palace ; but ” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


241 


“No buts, little wife. It is your own command.” 

“ But — I must, dear — but it bas a spare room in it.” 

“Yes.” 

“ A tiny room — hardly fit for a great lady, but a pretty room, 
I think.” 

I begin to understand before he does. I look gratefully at 
my sister — eagerly at her husband. My nurse looks up too, and 
smiles approval. 

“ Go on, my precious.” 

“ On the sunny side, Gerald. Such a healthy side, you know.” 

“Specially in a city where the sun never shines,” he says, 
smiling. “ Go on, my wife.” 

“ Husband, dear, I never asked you for anything yet that you 
said no to.” 

“ Which is an intimation that I must not say no now. Go 
on, my darling.” 

“ Gerald, dear, while I was sitting there sewing, listening to 
Charley and to my own fancies too — ” 

“ What, a tear ! Nay, I cannot allow that, my wife.” 

“ I fancied I saw a ghost — perhaps one from the churchyard 
yonder — looking in upon us.” 

“ Nor that either, Aileen.” 

“ A fair face like mine, only handsomer.” 

“ Then it was a false face, for the thing is an impossibility.” 

“ A fair face like mine, only paler.” 

“ May yours never resemble it in that respect,” he says fervently. 

“ A fair face like mine, only desolate, forsaken, friendless.” 

She is sobbing now, but what matters it ? her head is on her 
husband’s breast. 

When she raises it, her face bright and smiling again, she has 
got her own way, of course, and the poor lady under my care has 
found a temporary home. It is in such manner that the women 
rule us — bless their tender hearts ! — despotically. It is in such 
manner that they may ever rule us, if they choose. 

But now it is time for me to go, even Aileen acknowledges 
that, unless I would become in deed and truth a midnight guest. 

“ Just wait one moment, Charley,” she says, as I reluctantly 
rise, loath to leave the tiny paradise. “ I must ask you one thing 
more first. Gerald, hold both your big hands before my face, 
for I know I shall blush.” 

16 


242 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


He draws her head instead to its old resting-place. 

“ Did you, Charley — are you quite sure he can’t see the least 
bit of me, Gerald ? — did you get my manuscript ?” 

“You know I did, Aileen.” 

“ And — and read it ?” 

“Every word of it.” 

“ Good boy ! And were you very angry ?” 

“ I might have been, only just then all my anger was occupied 
with myself.” 

“ Ah, you have been sinning too ! I must hear about that an- 
other time. And did you — did you laugh ? Gerald, throw your 
handkerchief over my head ; I’m perfectly certain he can see my 
ears, they burn so.” 

“ No, Aileen, I can’t ; besides. I’m looking the other way ; and 
yes, Aileen, I laughed once or twice.” 

“ And — and cry a little ?” 

“ Hum ! ha ! — er — of course not ! That is to say, do men 
ever — ” 

“ That is to say, you she answers, with true womanly 

acumen, forgetting her own shamefacedness to enjoy the spec- 
tacle of mine. And now, if you’ve really made up your mind 
to go, and won’t stay the night — though our spare room is a 
lovely one, and I think if you wouldn’t mind curling up your 
legs a little the bed would be quite long enough — why, just give 
nursey and Gerald a good hug — no, I mean, shake hands with 
him^ though why he should object to what / think rather nice I 
can’t imagine. Gerald, IHl open the door for him, we don’t 
want you ; and I sent Margery to bed an hour ago — partly to 
save her from the temptation of listening, to which I fear she 
sometimes yields ; partly, poor thing, to give her ample time to 
recover from her fright.” 

She had something else to say to me, then ; I knew it. 

But she only opens the house door and kisses me very ten- 
derly — her kisses as moist now as in the days of old — and lets 
me pass out of the sanctuary of a happy home into the blank 
cheerlessness of the foggy November night without a word. 

I have hardly taken two steps, though, before she is after me, 
breathless, to lay a little detaining hand upon my arm. 

“You’ll catch cold, my darling sister, and what would your 
Gerald say to me then ?” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


243 


“ Never mind. Charley, you are going to Ballyacora Hall ?” 

“ To-morrow morning, Aileen, as fast as express train and 
boat will take me there.” 

“ And you will see papa and mamma, and Mabel, and all the 
rest,” she says, with a deep sigh I construe into regret. 

“ I suppose so. Would you like to go with me?” 

“ Ah, I dare not. Besides ” (proudly), “ I would not without 
him.” 

“You are sure you do not miss the comforts you have been 
accustomed to — that you do not regret — ” 

“ Regret ! oh, Charley, if you knew ! but — ” 

“ But what, my pet ?” for she is crying bitterly, her head upon 
my arm. ^ 

“ Charley, ask papa and mamma to forgive me. Plead for me.” 

“ I have a cause of my own to plead with them, Aileen, but 
yours shall come first.” 

“ That’s my generous boy. I always knew you were not really 
selfish.” 

Ah ! the selfishness has been driven out of me by keenest 
pain, and I know now that it is the highway to wretchedness. 

“ I don’t want anything but their forgiveness,” Aileen con- 
tinues, raising her little head proudly again. “ I was miserable 
in the midst of luxury. I am so happy now ! Gerald gives me 
all I want, and it is so sweet to be indebted to him for every- 
thing. He is so glad to give, I am so glad — so proud to take.” 

“ I understand, dear, and it is the right thing.” 

“But — not at first, more shame to me — only lately, I have 
longed to have them forgive and love me if they can. I have 
thought — ” 

She stops abruptly, trembling with emotion, and perhaps a 
little, too, from the raw, searching cold of the dark night. I 
fold her close in my arms, kissing her wet cheek and downcast 
eyes. 

“ Thought what ?” I say, soothingly. 

“ That — if — if, in years to come, Gerald and I should ever 
have a little child, and it should turn from us — ” 

She has torn herself out of my arms and gone back into the 
light and love and warmth of Home before I can speak another 
word ; but I walk along the deserted street, greatly enlightened. 
I see again the rosy web, and the bit of flimsy material, and the 


244 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


rapid movement of dear womanly hands by lamp and firelight. 
The tangled web of vague conjecture is cleared away, and the 
neatest, dewiest home of cunning woodland spider, sparkling in 
the sharp light of sudden revelation, in its dusty stead. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A MARRIAGE AND A RENUNCIATION. 

“ Denn die Manner sind heftig, und denken nur immer das Letzte, 

Und die Hinderniss treibt die Heftigen leicht von dem Wege. 

* ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

Stehen, wie Felsen, docli zwei Manner gegen einander, 

Unbewegt und stolz will keiner dem andern sich nahern, 

Keiner zum guten Worte — dem ersten — die Zunge bewegen! 

m * * * 

Aber ein gutes Wort verlangt er und kann es verlangen; 

Denn er ist Vater !” — Goethe {Hermann und Dorothea). 

The fog which has kept the puffing and impatient steamer 
long motionless in the Channel thickens into close and heavy 
rain as we slowly move up the river towards Waterford. I have 
been pacing the deck for several hours, driven thereunto by that 
inward restlessness which forces the weary body into sympa- 
thetic action, and mechanically listening to the monotonous com- 
mands, sonorously delivered from the captain’s bridge, sono- 
rously repeated by the man at the wheel : “ Hard a-port !” — 

“ Hard a - port.” “ Starboard a bit !” — “ Starboard it is.” 
“ Steady !” — “ Steady.” 

“ Ste-a-dy ! Ste-a-dy !” How the words still ring in my ears, 
with that peculiarly distressing sensation of intense heart-and- 
body sickness which sea travelling, especially with a mind ill at 
ease, often leaves behind ! “ Ste-a-dy ! steady !” All in vain the 
repeated command ! The lumbering old vehicle conveying me 
from the city of Cork to Ballyacora gets deeper into the ruts 
every moment ; my agitated heart beats with continually in- 
creasing irregularity the nearer we approach the long avenue of 
stately horse-chestnuts leading up to the Hall. 

We pass the South Lodge, the great gates opening with creak- 
ing reluctance to let in the heir. Heavily and remorselessly the 
rain pours down upon the sodden remnant of shivering leaves 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


245 


still clinging to the trembling mother branches, which moan out 
their want of power to hold them as the cruel night wind rushes 
headlong to the attack. A little bit of fraternal cursing and 
swearing goes on between the driver and the porter, the latter 
angered at the late, and apparently plebeian, arrival. The gates 
sw'ing to heavily again behind us. I draw back impatiently into 
shadow as the light from the gate lamps streams searchingly 
into the coach ; but it is too late, the porter has recognized me. 

“ Begor, and it’s yerself, Misther Charrels,” he says, touching 
his cap deferentially; “shure and it’s the masther that’ll be 
glad to see ye, the night. Ye’re just in toime, sorr !” 

In time for what ? I wonder, as we drive on again. 

But I have not much time for wondering. A few minutes 
more, and I am almost blinded by the glare of light streaming 
out into the darkness from the chandelier-illumined hall. 

The footman stands at ease, awaiting my pleasure. I, very far 
from standing at ease, decline to hand him the card he seems to 
expect, and turn wearily towards the library. 

“ Tell your master I request an immediate audience,” I say, 
haughtily ; “ I will wait for him here.” 

The footman is new, and does not know me. He seems in- 
clined to dispute my right to enter. But, disregarding his as- 
tonishment, I lay my hand upon the door-handle. 

The subdued light in the library is very pleasant after the 
glare of the hall. I am about to sink into an easy-chair when 
I observe that the room is not empty. Two people — a lady 
and gentleman — look up with surprise and some indignation. 
I see two things instantaneously, while in the act of seating my- 
self : first, that they are very close together — suspiciously close, 
his arm hastily withdrawn from toying with the raven coils of 
her abundant hair ; then, that they are strangers to me. 

Yet — the afterthought comes vividly — the lady’s eyes, of a 
deep, dark, lustrous blue, are singularly like those of my German 
countess, only that the light in these is all reflected from with- 
out; not, like > hers, only crystal windows through which the 
soul, now glad, now sorrowing, looks out upon you. And his 
eyes, too, never seen before in the flesh, are uncomfortably fa- 
miliar to me in the spirit. I have already looked and shrugged 
mental shoulders at them, either in a picture or a dream. Fishy, 
cold, selfish, passionless, and yet sensual, they have no light at 


246 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


all, or power even of reflecting any, except throngh a glass me- 
dium, covering one of them. 

I am retreating with a low bow and a few words of not unem- 
barrassed apology — for in this room I am so unmistakably de 
trop that to remain would be unpardonable — when the lady 
gracefully rises, revealing the outlines of. a figure as perfect as 
that of any sculptured Venus, slowly approaches me, puts out 
a lily hand, cold and unpulsating as marble, shows a trifle more 
of two pearly teeth, always partially visible above the short and 
proudly curled upper lip, and says, languidly : 

“ How do you do, Charles ? Papa will be delighted. Allow 
me to introduce my brother, my lord. Charles, this is Viscount 
Kilreeny.” 

I cannot help wondering, as I look with compelled admiration 
into her exquisitely colored, calm, unflushing, profoundly self- 
conscious face, commanding the homage of the senses as a won- 
derfully chiselled piece of sculpture might, and also exciting as 
much desire as it might do to press her to one’s heart, whether 
the gentleman beside her — he is a lord, so I suppose I must call 
him one — whether he has ever yet ventured to touch her scar- 
let lips with his. I only know that I don’t venture. I bow a 
moment low over the beautiful hand with a somewhat emo- 
tional recollection of Aileen’s warm, moist lips upon my cheek, 
and check the unmanly disposition to sob, and the untoward 
one to laugh, as I remember the noble viscount’s own recorded 
words : “ Now, a fellah likes warmth.” 

I get a kiss, nevertheless, from somebody that night — accept 
and return it too, though rather shamefacedly. Not from my 
mother. The melodramatic performance with which we separ- 
ated is repeated wdth even extra theatrical solemnity — we both 
salute the air simultaneously in her boudoir. Her maid, who is 
reading to her when 1 enter, watches the pathetic scene, not 
without anxiety. No wonder : dinner-time is approaching, and 
that wonderful effect produced by carmine, etc., can’t be repro- 
duced in a minute. But how old she looks in spite of it ! How 
painful the contrast between the raven curls and the wrinkles 
touching them? How almost ghastly the perfection of the 
white teeth and the sunken nonconformity of the cheeks ! How 
unnatural the rose-tint on the prominent cheek-bones ! “ Go and 
dress,” she says querulously ; “ you are not fit to be seen — Rey- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


247 


nolds, proceed ; I couldn’t eat a morsel until I know whether 
Laura relents. Reginald, shut the door quietly ; my nerves will 
not bear the falling of a pin.” 

No, it is my father, poor old man ! who, redder, fatter, balder, 
wheezier, more city-magnate-looking than ever, gets upon gouty 
toes to kiss his only son, the varnish peeling off him everywhere 
as he does so. I submit with heroic fortitude ; for the noble 
viscount is looking on, no inconsiderable amount of disgust fish- 
ily gleaming in both covered and uncovered eye. Poor old man ! 
I would submit to more than that, knowing what I have in store 
for him. 

Dinner is in progress, with its multitudinous courses, its spark- 
ling of silver and crystal glass, its rich yet subdued light, its 
wealth of flowers, its velvet-shod butler and liveried footmen, 
its insufferable dullness, its unbearable ennui. My father and 
the noble viscount eat and drink as if eating and drinking were 
the grand motives of life. My mother eats and drinks as if her 
appetite as well as her heart were away with that yet unravelled 
destiny of Laura’s and her teeth were an insurmountable obstacle 
to her mastication. Florence eats and drinks as if even entrees 
and champagne were too gross aliments for her celestial beauty, 
and touches knife and fork with an air of supreme condescen- 
sion. Mabel and the girls eat and drink what they are offered, 
with the healthy appetites natural to their age. I eat and drink 
with a pained consciousness that the costly viands are choking 
instead of nourishing me, and a longing, which becomes intenser 
with every morsel and every fiery drop, for the “ dinner of herbs,” 
upon which I used to feast so sumptuously in the old Schenke 
at Giitsch — or even for the kippered herrings of Aileen. 

There is very little conversation. My father’s face grows 
purple as he tosses down glass after glass of the fiery poison 
Englishmen call port. The noble viscount, incited by the wine- 
cup, murmurs a few faint compliments to the lady at his side, 
whose snowy neck and shoulders, frankly and freely exposed 
for the benefit of everybody indiscriminately, are not one whit 
agitated by the reminder that the morrow will transform her 
into a viscountess. Mabel and the girls whisper together fur- 
tively, but subside into alarmed silence when my father’s blood- 
shot eye lights upon them. I have ceased to wonder at the 
goutiness of the latter’s toes. I now cease to wonder how ho 


248 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


manages to keep his girls in such subjection, reserving that emo- 
tion instead for the more personal consideration of how Aileen 
dared — ^how I shall dare — defy him. 

I begin to envy the footmen as, course by course, the never- 
ending dinner “ drags its slow length along.” They can, and 
do, break the spell by an occasional “ ’Ock, sir ?” “ Claret, my 
lord ?” “ Pommery, ma’am ?” at measured and stately intervals. 
I wonder how the girls can bear it, or how I ever managed to 
do so in the times that are past. 

At last — everything must come to an end — dessert is on the 
table. The butler places fresh decanters of port and sherry 
before my father, and follows the retreating footmen. A little 
more dallying and toying with sugared foreign fruits and costly 
hothouse English productions, and the ladies rise. The viscount, 
with somewhat unsteady steps, rises too, to open the door for 
my mother. As the fair cavalcade sweeps gently out of the 
room, I feel my lips curling and my cheeks flushing at the sight 
of the superfluity of their garments below, and the scantiness 
thereof above, the w^aist. I wonder what the footmen think of 
it, and whether this view of the thing ever strikes the ladies. 

But I cannot escape yet with propriety. There are a few 
more bottles of port to be emptied before we are presentable 
for the drawing-room. When, Anally, my father, in a voice so 
thick that you can hardly hear through it, and, moreover, weight- 
ed with hiccoughs, proposes that we should do so, the noble lord 
is under the table (I am writing of five-and-twenty years ago), 
and the idea has to be abandoned. I help his valet, who is near 
at hand and no whit amazed at the spectacle, to drag him to his 
feet, for which service of love he is remarkably grateful and af- 
fectionate. He sheds tears upon my waistcoat, tells me I’m a 
cappelgoolfell,'’' and commissions me with some message for 
Florence, utterly inexplicable except the last word, which bears 
some resemblance to comments. I decline to deliver them, keep- 
ing the same, and my own, to myself for the nonce. Two or 
three of the footmen, helped by his own servant, convey him to 
his coach in waiting, and my father reminds the valet not to for- 
get that to-morrow is the wedding-day. “ Don’t let him — hie — 
be late,” says my father. No, sir,” says the man. 

The servant keeps his word. The noble bridegroom, very 
seedy - looking and shaky, and fishier - eyed than ever, lets his 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


249 


lovely bride suffer the pain of suspense only one quarter of an 
hour. The still driving rain, and still howling wind, offer some 
excuse, perhaps, for this delay ; which, besides, may be but an 
early and wholesome reminder to the future viscountess that her 
lord is fully aware of his superiority, and means her to be aware 
of it too. There is a vast amount of white satin and orange 
blossoms, and no apparent end of carriages and smiling guests, 
and if the necks and shoulders of the shivering bridesmaids did 
not turn goosy and blue and their pretty noses a little red, one 
might be deceived as to the chilliness of heart and atmosphere 
pervading the whole. The Church, represented by four or five 
stoled priests, goes through her part with somewhat accelerated 
speed — it is so cold and so close on twelve — yet still with suffi- 
cient solemnity. Miss Florence Smythe becomes Viscountess 
Kilreeny in full accordance with the Ritual. The Church’s 
benediction is upon her as she sweeps down the aisle, her hand 
upon her husband’s arm, her train borne after her by two envi- 
ous bridesmaids. The rain of heaven is upon her for a second 
as she steps out from under the shelter of God’s house into the 
carriage. The bells are chiming over her, to the full as gleefully 
as if the sun were shining ; but what about the blessing of God ? 

I hear two or three comments — plebeian, not noble ones — as I 
pass out in my turn, feeling as lachrymose as if I had been to a 
funeral. 

“ Did you ever see such a beauty ?” 

“/prefer Miss Aileen.” 

“ Hush ! see, he is smiling. What a set of teeth ! Don’t 
they look as if they could bite ?” 

“ Ay, and she’ll find out that they can. I know him.” 

The next whispering couple are his valet and my old acquaint- 
ance John. 

“ He looks seedy, don’t he?” 

“ Seedy ! Oh, the night I’ve had ! It took no end of soda- 
water, with a good many hairs of the dog which bit him, to 
bring him to his legs again.” 

The wedding breakfast was over. The noble pair were gone, 
eti route for the Sunny South, to celebrate there the sweetness of 
the honeymoon. The guests were gone. The excitement was 
gone, leaving behind it an uncomfortable vacuum — the inevitable 
flatness of reaction, 


250 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


But I was not gone ; neither was my fear. It had grown im- 
mensely since my arrival, and stood up, gigantic, gaunt, and hol- 
low-eyed, before me the first moment I was alone with my father. 
It laid a cold and clammy hand on the lips of Resolution, trying 
hard to stifie her more-than-once-repeated steady Now. 

“ You got my letter, then, my boy ?” 

“ What letter, sir ?” 

“ The one I sent to that place in Switzerland — what d’ye call 
it?” 

“ Do you mean Lucerne ?” 

“ Ay, Lucerne. What made you stay there so long ?” 

“ I have been ill. I told you so.” 

“ Yes. You had a tumble into the water. It makes my old 
blood run cold to think of it. But you are well and strong now. 
You look well and happy, my son.” 

His words were an assertion, yet the tone in which he uttered 
them was strongly tinctured with almost pathetic inquiry. 

“ I am well, sir ; and I should be the happiest man on earth 
if—” 

“If? There shall be no ‘ifs’ in your case. You shall be 
happy. I have only lived to make you happy. I shall die con- 
tent when I have done it.” 

He shook the ashes out of his meerschaum as he spoke, some- 
what vehemently. That was one of his plebeian habits : he would 
smoke a pipe, even as lord of Ballyacora. As for me, I threw 
my unfinished cigarette into the fire, and tried to believe it was 
that which was making me feel so sick. “ These Russian cigar- 
ettes,” I said, putting a hand up to my paling cheek and desper- 
ately biting my trembling lip, “ are an imposition.” 

“ You’ve had your fling, my boy,” continued my father, refill- 
ing his pipe. “You can never say I grudged you your fling. 
You’ve drawn heavily upon me during the last year or two ; 
made ducks and drakes of the money I’ve sweated to earn. I’ll 
be bound ; sown wild oats enough for a dozen ordinary fellows ; 
and committed every extravagance under the sun. Never mind ! 
’Tis all the same to me. There’s plenty more grist in the mill, 
and it’s all there for you, Charley. All yours, my boy.” 

“Thank you, my dear father, thank you. You have been 
very good to me. I know it. I acknowledge it with my whole 
heart.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


251 


He looked lovingly at me ; his red face redder than ever from 
suppressed emotion. As for me again, I was actually making 
what my noble friends Lord George Graceless and Sir Harry 
Goitt would have called “ a damned fool ” of myself. 

“Why, Charley, lad! You don’t think I mean to throw it 
up at you, do you ? You don’t think there’s anything I’d grudge 
my only son ? And now you’re going to repay me for it, you 
know, a thousandfold.” 

“ How, sir ?” 

“ I’ve got good news for you, my boy. You are tired of hav- 
ing your own way, ain’t you ? I can see it in your face. Well, 
you shall do my bidding for a change, before settling down to 
be your own master and master of Ballyacora.” 

“ If I can, my dear father. I’ll do your bidding gladly.” 

“ If you can, eh? You can^ fast enough ; and shall — I mean, 
you will. That was our compact, you know. You haven’t for- 
gotten our compact, my boy ?” 

“ Did I make one ?” 

“ Ay, and one you’ll have to keep, Charles. Have to, mind 
you ! But it hardly need be a restraint on you at all, or only for 
a few weeks of courtship. A man may do what he will, after 
marriage, with his wife.” 

“Can he make her a good mother to his children, sir?” I 
asked, bitterly. 

He winced at that. I saw his forehead contract and his eye 
fall. But he hardened himself too, as he answered, doggedly — 

“ He can prevent her, at all events, from interfering with his 
views about them.” 

“ Can he make her love him ?” 

“ He can make himself do without it.” 

“ Do without the most blessed thing God has given us ? Do 
without that, the want of which has made this fine estate and 
noble mansion the very barrenness of desolation — more wretched- 
than the poorest hovel ?” 

The words burst from me unawares. All my fine plans and 
carefully rehearsed sentences for attacking his prejudices were 
shattered by my own impetuosity. I had meant to divulge my 
sentiments gradually and gently, and now they had rent a way 
for themselves with the suddenness of a flash of lightning. I 
had meant, in short, to play the part of some one vitally different 


252 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


from Charles Reginald Smythe, Esquire, and Nature angrily shook 
me out of my studied role almost at the first sentence. 

He looked at me with very threatening clouds gathering heavily 
on his brow, yet still trying to cherish a faint hope that his ears 
were deceiving him — that it was in some nightmare that those 
hot words of protest had been roared into his brain. Then he 
dashed his pipe into the grate and rose and faced me, the purple 
veins upon his purple forehead swelling till I thought they must 
surely burst. 

I rose too. Never in my life had I had to do a work so hard 
as this. Never in my life had I loved the old man before me as 
I loved him now. Yet there could be no compromise. I knew 
that. I knew that if my hand were even destined to deal him a 
death-blow, I must do it. 

There is this quality in my nature, faulty as it otherwise is : 
however low my courage may sink before a crisis — and, God 
knows, it often sinks to the dregs of pusillanimity — it always 
rises at the moment, level with it. It rose now. If my hand 
were destined to deal him a death-blow, I must deal it. 

For, strange to say, the knowledge of the pain I had to inflict, 
entering into my soul like a sharp iron, torturing my own nerves 
tenfold, did not weaken, but steeled me. There was no fear of 
Courage swooning now ; the most telling antidote had been ap- 
plied. Under the fire of its touch, she rallied and stood upright. 

I took the old man’s trembling hand and gently put him back 
into the chair from which he had risen ; I threw myself upon 
my knees before him. He had a right to demand — not in 
words, he spoke no word ; but with every line upon his face, 
every white hair upon his head — he had a right to demand that 
I should exhaust pleading before venturing to assert my right — 
the God-given right of my manhood. 

“ Listen, my dear father ! Let me explain before you are 
'angry with me. You are a magistrate. You would let any 
wretched poacher, any strolling vagabond, speak before you 
committed him, would you not? Do not be harder on your 
only son. I cannot repay you in the way you wish, but I will 
try hard to repay you in some other way.” 

He made no answer, but his bloodshot and glassy eyes were 
upon me. 

“ I have a cause to plead with you, sir — my own cause ; and 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


253 


I know you will hear me. Also I have to plead for another ; for 
your daughter, my sister, father — for Aileen.” 

He wrenched his hand away from mine. Oh, it was dreadful 
to know that it was passion, not relenting, stifling the curse upon 
his lips ! 

“ I went to see her when I was in London,” I continued, des- 
perately ; “ she is so good, so sweet, so happy ! Her only trouble, 
your displeasure and your anger. She begs and prays you to for- 
give her.” 

“ She’s getting tired, I warrant you,” he sneered, “ of the dry 
crust and tasteless water to which she has condemned herself. 
But what’s she to me ? What’s the whole world to me ? Damn 
it ! Go on, about yourself. Let me know, in as few confounded 
words as possible, whether I have a son still or not.” 

“ But, sir, Aileen — ” 

“I won’t hear another word about her. I’ve forbidden the 
mention of her name in the house. Not even you shall disobey 
me. I’ve given every one about the place orders that if she or 
her infernal beggar of a husband venture inside the park gates, 
they are to be driven out with a horsewhip. Plead your own 
cause and he quick about it, or, by G — , I’ll commit you without 
a pleading.” 

I got up from my knees, and stood now before him, silently 
combating with two new opponents — Indignation and Hot Anger. 
He went on : 

“I’ll shorten the matter by putting a few questions which 
you’ll please to answer straightforwardly, unless you’d have me 
treat you in like manner. When I was a lad, my father never 
gave me a sixpence without counting it, and making me give 
strict account of it too. I’ve given you thousands of pounds, 
and never asked for a reckoning.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ Ah, you know it, with that confounded curl of the lip which 
was your answer to every thrashing I gave you when you were a 
boy, and which signified — I knew it well — that you meant to go 
your own way in spite of me. I used to be proud of it then ; 
thought it showed pluck and spirit and blood ; but, mark my 
words, Charles, if you have your own way this time, it will be as 
an outlaw and as a beggar.” 

“ I was prepared for that, sir.” 


254 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ The devil you were !” getting up and pacing the room, his 
wrath rising to madness with his sense of its impotency ; his 
right hand clenching with the strong impulse of a hot-blooded 
and undisciplined man to throw down all obstacles to his will by 
brute force. “ That’s the meaning of the look in your eyes, the 
curve of your lip, that’s puzzled me ever since you came home. 
Who would be a father, to have the child, the son whom he 
cherished as the apple of his eye, grow up to be a man, only to 
stand there, like you, defying him, and to be powerless — Charles, 
you are killing me.” 

“ Sir, it is that I find so hard to bear — not your anger.” 

“ Why don’t you tell me what I want to know, then ? Does 
it give you pleasure to witness this protraction of my pain ? Sit 
down and tell me why you refuse to do the one thing I have 
lived for. I am an old man — remember that.” 

“ I do remember it, sir. I do remember it.” 

“ Speak, then.” 

“ You want me to marry, and I want to marry. So far we are 
of one mind.” 

“ Whom do you want to marry ?” 

“ The woman who has my heart, my soul, my honor.” 

“ And whose honor you have in return — eh ?” 

I sprang to my feet. I gasped for breath under the blow he 
hit me. I staggered under it. Oh, my Therese, my one earth- 
ly treasure, my spotless love ! 

“ A damned foreigner, I suppose, who has thought to catch a 
golden Englishman ?” He laughed. 

“ Not even you, sir — not even you, shall speak of her in that 
tone, with that sneer.” 

“ Hoity, toity ! ‘ Shall, sha’n’t !’ I’m not in my dotage yet, 
sir; I’m master still in Ballyacora, and you, sirrah, are but a 
guest, at my pleasure. Listen. You will give this woman up. 
Send her a few hundred pounds — if you’ve promised her, or 
compromised her — as compensation.” 

I was silent. 

“ Do you hear me, sirrah ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well?” 

“ I have nothing further to add, sir. If I say more I shall for- 
get myself.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


255 


“ You have done that, confound you ! more than enough al- 
ready. You will give this woman up.” 

“ I will not.” 

“ You will (jive this woman wp.^' 

“ I will die first.” 

“ Or me, and Ballyacora Hall.” 

“ The alternative rests with you, sir. I have spoken.” 

“ And, by G — ! so have I. Do you retract ?” 

“ No, never.” 

“ Once more ; only once, sir. When you were born, and I 
looked upon my son’s face for the first time, I said : ‘ I will work 
night and day, never tiring, never weary, to make this boy what 
I am not — a gentleman.’ I kept my word. My son, come and 
kiss your old father, who will very soon cease to be a burden on 
you. Give him this one thing in return for all his sleepless nights 
and hard-working days. Marry a lady — an English lady of birth ; 
I have one in prospect for you — and all that I have is yours.” 

“ Oh, father, if it were anything else !” 

“ Anything but the thing I want. Charley, my son, my boy, 
whom I have always loved beyond everything ! let me go on my 
knees now, and beg you. I am old. I have worked hard. And 
to see it all blasted by you for whom I have worked !” 

Oh, those tears — those piteous, heartrending tears in aged 
eyes ! Providence was hard upon me. God was cruel. Fate 
was relentless. With his hand wrenching at my heart-strings, 
what could I do ? 

“ The right, however hard.” Moppert’s last words came to 
save me. A divine hand wiped the death-sweat from the paling 
face of Courage ; a divine cordial raised her to her feet again. 

I put my father once more back into his seat. I knelt down 
beside him. I raised his withered hand to my lips. “ Father, 
forgive me, but this one thing I cannot do. I dare not. 

He was very quiet now. The flush on his face had faded into 
leaden gray, but he neither repulsed me nor spoke one angry 
word. His command to ring the bell was almost gentle, yet I 
drew no consolation from his gentleness. It was the quiet of a 
volcano before the outburst which would desolate a home. Hope 
could not breathe in the sulphurously charged atmosphere ; it 
gasped, reeled, fell prostrate. 

The footman came in answer to the summons. 


256 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ John, tell the men-servants I want them all here in the smok- 
ing-room. Tell them to come at once.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ The coachman is gone home, I suppose, and all the grooms, 
too ?” 

“ Miss Florence’s new groom — I beg your pardon, sir ; would 
say, my Lady Kilreeny’s — is in the servants’ hall, sir ; he has 
leave to come once a week ; he is courting — ” 

“ Let him come with the rest.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

I stood leaning against the mantelpiece, hardly wondering 
what was going to happen, so exhausted was I with my effort. 

The men came. They were a stately group. I thought so, as 
I stood there listlessly looking at them. Some Irish, some Eng- 
lish ; all fine, well-grown fellows. 

“ Henry ” (Henry was my sister’s groom), “ what sort of weath- 
er is it ?” 

“ The wind is high, sir, still ; hut it don’t rain now, nothing 
to speak of.” 

“ Gypsy has not been out to-day ?” 

“ No, sir. Miss Ethel rides her sometimes, sir, since — but to- 
day it has been too wet.” 

“ She goes like the wind. How long would it take you to 
ride her to Cork and back again ?” 

“ To-night, sir ?” 

“ Yes, to-night.” 

“ The roads is rough, sir, after the rain, but she’ll do the six- 
teen miles in an hour, easy. Say two hours and a half to be 
back again, sir.” 

“ Good. Saddle her at once. Ride to Cork, and bring back 
my lawyer with you. You know where to find him?” 

“ Yes, sir. To-night, sir ?” 

“Don’t repeat my orders, idiot! Yes, to-night. Tell him 
he must come at once. I want to alter my will.” 

The groom went. The men looked furtively at each other, and 
at their master, and at me. They all knew perfectly that there 
was something unusual in the wind, which now, after ineffectual 
efforts to get at us through the well-fitting windows, shrieked 
a fierce protest in at the keyhole, and roared a furious warning 
down the chimney. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


257 


“ Tomkins,” said my father, addressing the butler, a grave, 
respectable, smooth-faced, smooth-voiced, smooth-handed man, 
with sons of his own, “ do you know who this — this gentle- 
man is?” 

“ Mr. Charles, sir ?” The man’s answer was one of amazed 
inquiry. 

“Yesterday — an hour ago,” continued my father, now ad- 
dressing them all, “ he was my son, your young master. Any 
disobedience to his orders on the part of any one of you would 
have been punished by the instant dismissal of the offender. 
You hear me ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ To-day he is a beggar, an outcast. I have sent for my law- 
yer to strike his name out of my will. Tomkins, you have saved 
a little, 1 dare say. You are a rich man, compared with him, 
now.” 

The men stood aghast. 

“ If he should venture to enter this house or park again, you 
have my orders to set the dogs at him ; to drive him from the 
premises with a horsewhip. If he should venture to command 
any of you, you have my orders to laugh in his face.” 

The men looked at one another, and looked at me, and looked 
at him, and stood silent. 

“ Do you hear me, blockheads ? Answer.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

All my fear was gone now, as entirely annihilated as if it had 
never existed. I drew myself up proudly. I was sensible of a 
feeling akin to exultation. Oh, he was going the wrong way to 
work ; he was killing Pity and Remorse, his two most powerful 
allies ! He was murdering filial affection ; hardening the heart 
he might have softened ! 

“ As for you, sir,” he added, turning to me, and trying hard 
to speak without emotion, though even his lips were white with 
the struggle, “ I give you half an hour to quit my estate. If at 
the end of that time you are found anywhere upon it, you will 
be kicked out. Go and starve in a gutter with the woman who 
has ‘ your soul, your love, your honor,’ if s'o be that she does not 
change her mind, now that you are a beggar. Go to — perdition.” 

“ God forgive you, sir !” 

Oh, it was dreadful to know again that it was not relenting, 
17 


258 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


but passion, stifling the curse upon his lips ! The ghastly gray 
of his face faded to a still more deadly pallor. I saw the butler 
hurry to his assistance. I turned once more ; I thought he was 
dying. 

“ Do not touch me,” he gasped. “ Put him out, Tomkins. 
Don’t let him come near me.” 

“You will take care of him,” I said, earnestly. 

“Yes, sir. Please to go, sir. It’s a bit of a faint. He’ll 
come round directly.” 

I ventured to issue one more command before leaving my fa- 
ther’s house. I told one of the staring footmen to fetch Miss 
Mabel. The man did not laugh in my face. He obeyed me. 

From a dark corner of the hall I watched the long, rustling 
folds of my sister’s silk dress descend the wide staircase ; noted 
the anxious, scrutinizing look in those gray eyes of hers, which 
always seemed on the lookout for trouble ; and saw her turn 
into the smoking-room. 

Then I put on the overcoat and hat which John, the supercil- 
ious, ofliciously handed me, and, with no word of leave-taking, 
no loving pressure from a friendly hand, no tender kiss upon 
my cheek, passed out of the stately mansion, of which, up to 
this day, I had believed myself the indisputable heir. 

The whistling wind, coming boisterously towards me as I 
slowly went down the broad stone steps, hissed, like an unfeel- 
ing and heartless audience, careless disapproval of my dehut in 
defiance ; the withered leaves which it had driven before it on 
to the terrace trembled and rustled mournful memories of van- 
ished hopes, with which the invigorating sap of fickle spring had 
filled them brimful, and drearier forebodings of a sadder and 
more wintry time in store ; leafless trees, gaunt and horrible in 
the dimness of the starless night, tossed wild arms of horror at 
my audacity, and groaned bitterly at thought of its cruel pun- 
ishment; bright-eyed deer looked at me aghast or fled before 
me as from a pestilence. Nature turned traitor to me, shook a 
fist in my face, and mocked at my discomfiture. 

Once more, before turning into the long avenue, I looked back 
wearily, my heart drained so dry by what had passed that there 
was no life even in its pain, nothing but sterility and desolation 
— looked back up into the stony face of an effigied ancestor of 
the noble lord who had decamped, and into that of John, §till 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


259 


surreptitiously and curiously watching my ignominious exit from 
my father’s house. The one, petrified, eyeless, hard, cruel, pas- 
sionless, said nothing ; the other, stolid, servile, insolent, well 
nourished bodily, absolutely starving in respect of that higher 
nourishment we call mental, said plainly : “ I knew no good could 
come of that coach and that driver and those pantaloons.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

POOR MABEL ! 

“ Bien loin de s’effrayer, ou de rougir du nom de Philosophe, il n’y a personne 
qui ne ddt avoir une forte teinture de philosophie. Elle convient ^ tout le 
monde : la pratique en est utile ^ tous les ages, k tous les sexes, et toutes 
les conditions : elle nous console du bonheur d’autrui, des indignes preferences, 
des mauvais succ^s, du declin de nos forces ou de notre beaute : elle nous arme 
contre la pauvrete, la vieillesse, la maladie et la mort, centre les sots et les 
mauvais railleurs: elle nous fait vivre sans une femme, ou nous fait sup- 
porter celle avec qui nous vivons.” — L a Brutere. 

The half-hour’s grace which my father had accorded me was 
not yet fulfilled, when I softly opened a little door by the side 
of the great gates, and, all unobserved, let myself out of the pre- 
cincts of Ballyacora Hall. In the maze of darkness and con- 
fusion wherein my soul w’andered, I had lost the path, got en- 
tangled in the shrubbery, and only just escaped drowning in a 
sombre pool concealed there ; the one Aileen alluded to as haunt- 
ed by the spirits of former victims. 

The clock in the porter’s lodge loudly struck ten as I passed 
it. The deep bay of a hound in the distance was borne to me 
by the warning wind. 

I closed the little door as softly as I had opened it, and stood, 
an outcast, upon the highway. 

I had striven hard to do the right ; I had striven ; but, now 
that the battle was fought and won, there was no triumph in 
my heart, only doubt and dismay. My body stumbled in the 
darkness all around it. My soul, seeking guiding light and find- 
ing none, fell prostrate amid the deeper darkness within. 

I have been walking fast for about two hours ; it must have 

been very fast, my aching limbs are so wearv, and, like slaves 


260 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


driven to desperation, are beginning doggedly to disregard the 
whip of the driver. Said driver, my own fiercely excited soul, 
has paid no heed to the plaints of the body ; has been utterly 
indifferent to the raw, searching cold, penetrating to its very 
marrow ; and has totally ignored the drizzling rain, coming down 
thickly again, and wetting it through and through. What are 
thy petty sufferings, slave, to me, thy master ? I am suffering, 
too, trying to dull the intensity of my superior anguish by mar- 
tyrizing thee. 

Again the lash descends, and the weary body makes a fresh 
effort. It stumbles, staggers like a drunken man, but dares not 
plead for mercy. It falls at last among the ruts. I am aware 
that my hand is bruised, my forehead cut and bleeding. I am 
aware of that, but only because the warm blood trickles over my 
face. I wonder what it is, and put up my hand to feel, and 
sicken at the clammy stickiness of the blood, and lean, faint and 
dizzy, against the wet hedge to steady myself. 

I am glad to know that I am invisible there when the return- 
ing groom passes me on his road to Bally acora, the reins loose 
on the neck of the gallant thoroughbred he is riding, which, with 
stretched head and panting nostrils, flies past me like a vision. 
Another half-hour of almost unbearable exertion, my breath 
seeming sometimes loath to come at all, sometimes coming with 
a rapidity so great as almost to overbalance me, and a lumbering 
carriage heaves in view, the pale glimmer of its lamps revealing 
a solitary occupant “ redeeming the time,” perhaps because the 
night is so evil, by throwing strong oaths out upon its startled 
ear. 

Then oblivion, complete and heavy, in a ditch by the road- 
side, and the pallid morning looking shiveringly down upon me. 

Oh, the dreary, weary, never-ending road to Cork ! Shall I 
ever know warmth and comfort any more ? 

Another horse coming on behind me like the wind. A phan- 
tom lady riding it. A lady with a pale, irregular-featured face, 
and great, anxious, determined gray eyes, which seem ever on 
the lookout for trouble, and to see it ever coming on apace. 

The next moment this lady has sprung from her horse, and 
has fallen on my neck, and is warming me with a shower of hot 
tears and loving kisses. 

Oh, the dreary, weary, never-ending road to Cork ! Shall we 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


261 


ever get there ? She says we shall, trudging sturdily on beside 
me, and I try to believe her. 

A few hours later and I am in a warm bed, and have been fed 
and am in my right mind. And, best of all, my hand is softly 
pressed between two tender womanly ones, and my eyes, before 
closing, look up into two gray ones, full of love and compassion, 
watching over my repose. 

What should we men do without these sweet women given 
us to be our helpmates? 

Aileen had shown me how to dare, and now here was another 
sister beside me, braving my fate for my sake ; combining the 
courage of a hero with the woman’s matchless power of self- 
sacrifice ! 

And I had been accustomed to look down upon them with 
pitying contempt ! 

“ Does papa know that you followed me, Mabel ?” 

She hung her head and blushed — the truthful girl ; then 
raised her eyes and fixed them steadily upon me. 

“ No, Charley.” 

“ Then, how — ” 

“ Look,” she answered, pushing back her dark hair, no longer 
blushing, but pale, calm, and resolute, “I have thought you 
would ask me that, and I am prepared to defend what I have 
done. I hate to deceive him, but when men are tyrants, it is 
they who drive the women belonging to them to deception. 
Women are what men make them, and more than half our sins 
will be laid at their door.” 

She rose and began to walk up and down the little private 
sitting-room she had wisely engaged in one of the obscure inns of 
the city. Her step was the hurried, irregular one of excitement. 

“ I have lied,” she continued, stopping abruptly and looking 
me straight in the face, haughtily and without shame, “ and I 
shall go home and lie again, Charley. What would you do, if 
you were delivered over to the absolute control of another, to 
whom your hopes and wishes and joys and pains were nothing 

who would blast them all to gratify one whim, or satisfy one 

momentary fit of anger ?” 

“ I would fight for my liberty, struggle to obtain it to the 
death, run away — but I would not lie, Mabel.” 


262 


through love to life. 


“ What would you do if you were so bound and manacled 
that you could neither fight nor run ; and knew of one way — 
poisoning, corroding, defiling, but also simple and easy — for 
obtaining occasional freedom — the right to which is born with 
every one of us 

“ I would — would — at any rate, I would not be false to my- 
self. I would not abase myself, even for freedom.” 

“ Ah, Charley, if I were a man, I would talk like you ! I do 
not love deceit any more than you do ; but when it is my only 
weapon, I will use it ; and the guilt be upon his head who drove 
me to it. We all lie at Ballyacora Hall ; mamma does, in the 
least difficulty ; w’e girls must ; the servants, too, poor wretches !” 

I was silent, and stirred the tea Mabel set before me with an 
uneasy sense of complicity. 

“ Women’s lives,” continued my sister, remorselessly turning 
the dagger in the breast she had wounded, “ are often only lies 
from the cradle to the grave. The sin be upon your heads. 
You make us what we are. You make our lives continual refu- 
tations of God’s will concerning us. If we are punished for it, 
our punishment (for the very nature, the life-blood of punish- 
ment, is justice) will be light compared with yours.” 

She spoke with extreme bitterness ; her gray eyes flashing, 
her voice sharp and keen as the edge of a sword. 

‘‘ Look at mamma,” she continued ; “ what a life is hers ! 
Look at us — trampled upon, neglected, left to live or die as 
chance willed it in our childhood — decked out in tawdry accom- 
plishments and tawdrier finery now, to catch husbands, or rather, 
masters. I declare to you, Charley, when I go into the ball-room, 
or to the opera, my bare neck and shoulders white against the 
jewels upon them, I feel as degraded as if I were a slave, stuck 
up half naked on the block for buyers to touch and test and 
examine.” 

“ Mabel ! Mabel dear !” 

“ You are horrified when you hear the truth, Charley. You 
think because we cannot speak — or only a few of us — we can- 
not feel. You proclaim the honesty of men and the dishonesty 
of women as a palpable proof which of the two Nature meant 
to rule. You make of us incarnate lies, and then hold up holy 
hands of indignation when we lie. You teach certain women 
by means of bribes, and by weakening and narrowing their 


through love to life. 


263 


sphere of vision till it is solely concentrated on themselves, to 
denounce such of their sex as are not satisfied, as unwomanly. 
They are satisfied, lolling on the cushions you provide, feasting 
on the crumbs from your banquets, soothed into complacency 
by your kisses. They have no souls to hunger, and when a 
famishing soul cries out for nourishment, they denounce the 
sufferer as unwomanly. Half our sins you decry as essential to 
our baser nature ; half are unwomanly. As if we were not of 
your own flesh and blood ; work and exercise as necessary to 
our faculties as to yours ; our need of mental life as great !” 

“ Mabel, Mabel !” But there was no stopping her now ; I 
had to listen. 

“ Let me have my say, Charley. There is some comfort in 
not keeping it to myself any longer. I have a man now, who 
must perforce hear me, and I will speak. I will lift up my voice 
this once in solemn protest. You are going to marry, you say. 
How will you — with the almost unlimited power which the law 
gives you — how will you treat your wife ?’ 

“ I have not thought about that, Mabel. I love her.” 

“ You do, you do, Charley. No man could speak the word 
‘love’ with that softened accent, those wet yet earnest eyes, 
that proud and tender intonation, without feeling it to his heart’s 
core. Now, how do you mean to show your love ?” 

“You are a close catechist, Mabel. How could I conceal it?” 

“ That is a counter-question, and no answer. I want an an- 
swer, a straightforward one.” 

“ By working for her, night and day, if necessary ; by grati- 
fying every wish of hers that I can ; by saving her every trouble, 
and giving her every joy, in my power.” 

“ The working for her night and day will probably be a grim 
necessity,” she continued, dryly, “for the sum of twenty-eight 
pounds, some odd shillings, and sevenpence halfpenny can’t last 
forever, and — ” 

“ TwQXiij-three pounds, Mabel.” For we had counted up the 
money forthcoming out of the pockets of both of us, with this 
result. 

“ So much the worse,” she answered, smiling ; “ it was only 
the all-important halfpenny I was sure of. Well, the second 
clause won’t do at all ; to gratify every wish would be a folly.” 

“ Of course I mean if they are reasonable, and for her good.” 


2G4 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“Of course you mean with as much inward reservation as 
Pascal’s ‘ Pere cela va sans dire^ Charley. However, we will 
let that pass for the present ; because, as for clause third, it 
must be utterly annihilated if it means in the least what I think 
it does. What does it mean, Charley ? — ‘ saving her every 
trouble.’ ” 

“ Why, if a fellow had any worries out of the house, or got 
into any money hobble, or couldn’t pay his bets — ” 

“ Bets^ Charley ?” 

“ Debts, I mean. Why should a wife be worried and pained 
with outside troubles? I should think it mean and cowardly 
to vex and annoy her about things I ought to bear for myself, 
and I would do my best to keep every grievance from her.” 

“ Wrong, Charley. Utterly and entirely wrong. Did not God 
make woman as a helpmate for man ? What right have you to 
deprive her of that most blessed privilege? — less right than to 
make bets or debts either. Do you suppose, if she loves you, 
that she would not notice the trouble in your face ? do you sup- 
pose that the very fact of your concealing it would not make it 
appear tenfold ? Women have vivid imaginations ; plenty of 
foolish fear for visionary dangers, but more courage than you 
to bear real pain or face real emergency.” 

“ You think highly of your sex, Mabel.” 

“ I think highly of what they might be, and of what some few 
are. We are capable of anything, Charley. You may make an- 
gels or demons of us. And I think unutterably meanly of such 
men as would deny us the high position to which we were born, 
who would make of a divine helpmate a slave or a favorite — 
both conditions equally degrading — whose only credential of 
manhood is the not being women, and the sneering at those 
who are.” 

“ How old are you, Mabel ?” 

“ What a curious question for a brother, Charley ! Do you 
want the old nursery answer, ‘ As old as my little finger and a 
little older than my teeth ’ ? If indignation at my lot is making 
a female Methuselah of me in looks — and I dare say it is ; I 
never look in the glass without being astonished at mv own 
ugliness — why, perhaps I may be justified in replying, ‘ A little 
younger than I appear.’ Nearer than that you can’t expect a 
woman to go.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


265 


“ You are not ugly, Mabel. Your broad forehead and clear 
eyes would redeem any — ” 

“ For shame ? What an ignominious result of fishing ! — an 
odious conger-eel instead of a beautiful pink salmon. I’ll never 
fish again ; be content with my broad mouth and hooked nose 
and sallow skin, and comfort myself with the philosophical re- 
flection that whoever comes a-courting me will be attracted solely 
by the profoundness of my wisdom.” 

“ Ay, that’s your tour de force^ Mabel. Where did you get it ?” 

“ Papa was magnanimous enough to let me learn to read ; 
God gave me some brain and some common-sense ; voila tout. 
No, not all ; I have access to a few libraries, and read that epit- 
ome of human wisdom. The Times'' 

“ Well, all I can say is — ” 

“ That the axiom about women’s tongues is true, at all events, 
and that your tea is cold. Let me give you another cup. And 
now let us talk about your wife that is to be, for in another half- 
hour I must mount my gallant charger and, under cover of the 
night, return to Bally acora.” 

“ I shall not let you go back. I shall take you with me.” 

“ Even your man’s omnipotent shall not must yield, Charley. 
Or do you think your twenty-three pounds odd is like the wid- 
ow’s barrel and cruse ?” 

“ As soon as ever I have made a home for myself and her, I 
shall send for you.” 

She rather hastily put down the cup of tea she was bringing 
me, and softly touched my forehead with her lips. There was 
new light in her gray eyes now — a purer, tenderer light. 

“ Once or twice, Charley,” she said, gently, “ I have seriously 
thought of adopting your suggestion and running away ; offer- 
ing myself to some Christian lady as nursery or scullery maid. 
I think I could do their work. I’m not fit for anything else, 
though I’ve waded through many a book you would laugh, or 
frown, at if you heard the name of. But the little ones at home, 
as fatherless and motherless as if both parents were dead — worse 
off than orphans — how could I leave them ? I said we all lied 
at Ballyacora, but I have tried, I do try, to keep them free from 
the necessity. I try — forestalling your idea as to troubles — I 
try to keep my lies to myself.” 

I told her all about Therese and the love I bore her, and the 


266 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


impossibility it would have been to give her up. I told her of 
my intention to try and find work somewhere — any work so that 
we can live. The depression of the night on the road-side had 
been succeeded by almost buoyant confidence in my own capacity, 
and my fervent “ Where there is a will there is a way ” sounded 
like a paean. 

It was about ten o’clock when I put her on her horse ; a late 
hour for a lady to ride alone, but in Ireland it is only men and 
oppressors who need fear a lonely road-side. She bent down to 
kiss me. 

“ I’m a terrible coward on horseback,” she said, half laughing, 
and wholly sobbing, as we embraced, “ but a famous way of con- 
quering fear is to put a greater fear behind it, and the only thing 
I was afraid of last night, when I was chasing you, was lest I 
should miss you in the darkness ; and the only one I have now 
is whether my concocted story will appear credible to papa, in 
case he has been well enough to miss me.” 

“ Oh, Mabel, it is a degrading, a horrible necessity !” 

“ Nevertheless, a necessity,'"' she answered. “ Good-bye. God 
bless you and her, Charley !” 

“God bless you, Mabel !” 

One touch of her gold-mounted whip on the horse’s flank, and 
she was off like a shot. I saw her look back, and lift her whip 
again in greeting. The smile had vanished from her lips. Her 
great, wistful, anxious eyes were full of trembling expectation — 
like the eyes of one flying from trouble, yet not even daring to 
hope to win the race. 

I went back into the dingy little hotel, the one-eyed, solitary, 
and shabby waiter, who appeared to be dying of slow consump- 
tion and continual preying on himself, eying me with the mien 
of an emaciated spider who has had the good-fortune to entangle 
in his meshes a doomed fly. My sigh resolved itself into words 
as I sat down again before the cheerless fire. “ Poor Mabel !” 
I said ; “ poor, poor Mabel !” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


267 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

AN ENGLISH PROPHETESS AND A SWISS PROFESSORESS. 

“ God, the best maker of all marriages, 

Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! 

As man and wife, being two, are one in love.” 

Henry V. 

Once again I stood before that plate in Clapham which an- 
nounced with brazen persistency to all whom it might concern 
that “ Gerald Malcolmson, Architect,” was the inhabitant of the 
house it guarded. 

I had just enough coin of this mighty realm of Great Britain 
to pay the cabman his exact legal fare, with which, strange to re- 
late, he was not satisfied ; in fact, so very much the reverse that 
I became a prey to mental anguish until slow Margery let me in, 
a laughing-stock to the whole street ; several females in various 
stages of dishabille and curl-paper taking stock of, and out of, 
me in the generous and candid way peculiar to the lovely sex. 

Something glittered brightly under the swinging lamp in the 
tiny passage as I went in. It was my emerald ring — my sole 
remaining fortune ; and it seemed to say : “ Green am I as hope ; 
don’t be hipped yet, old fellow !” 

Aileen and another lady were sewing together in the little 
drawing-room. Both laid down their work and rose, smiling, to 
greet me — Aileen’s smile preceded by a faint and fleeting shadow. 
Bless her ! it was not want of hearty welcome. She was expect- 
ing him too, and how could I resent the being second in her af- 
fection ? 

How wonderfully alike they were ! As they stood together 
side by side, with the same fair skin, the same golden, flowing 
hair, the same deep-blue eyes, they might have been sisters. 
The German countess was a trifle taller, a trifle paler, a trifle — I 
am not Malcolmson — a trifle handsomer. But I was proud to 
see how well my sister sustained the severe comparison. I am 
not sure that it did not enhance her charms — the sweet con- 


268 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFK 


fidence in her husband, the sweet expression of content in her 
own inferiority, making you love her all the more. 

“ Well, Charley, dear,” said Aileen, a little wistfully, when the 
countess had discovered that she had some writing to do else- 
where, and had considerately left us alone. “ WelU” 

“Well, Aileen ?” 

“ Has papa — is it really well^ Charley ?” 

“ I expect so, dear. I have no doubt it will be well in the 
end.” 

“ But now ? Tell me quick, Charley. I am beginning to be 
frightened.” 

“But now, I shall have to set to and work for my bread. 
Now, all my fortune, Aileen, is this ring on my finger, and some- 
body in Switzerland, and as much of your love as your husband 
will spare me.” 

“ You don’t mean to say, Charley — ” She stopped to draw 
my head to her bosom and to anoint it with her tears. 

“ I mean to say, Aileen — don’t cry, I can’t bear to hear you 
cry — that you and I have both found out that love is worth a 
million times more than money, and are never going to fret about 
the paltry one while we have got the glorious other.” 

“ Oh, you poor, poor boy ! You don’t know what it is to 
work ; you don’t know what it is.” 

“You were working when I came in, Aileen. Was it very 
dreadful ? Does this poor little pricked finger ache very much ? 
You didn’t look miserable ; but perhaps your happy face was all 
pretence.” 

She lifted up my head by its two ears to shake it, and to let me 
have the full benefit of a tremendous shake of hers, which brought 
down a golden veil all about her, then twisted that bright hair into 
little switches wherewith to beat and buffet me, continuing this 
cruel treatment for some minutes, and winding up with so many 
penitential kisses upon the face she had beaten that I must, 
under the combined processes, have become as red as any lob- 
ster. And finally she broke out into the merriest and most 
mocking of laughs, the tears still running down her cheeks, at 
the disgraceful and helpless condition to which she had re- 
duced me. 

“ Oh, you untidy boy !” she ejaculated, with that gross in- 
justice of which only women are capable, reproaching me for 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


269 


her own, inhuman deeds, “how dare you come to visit me in 
such a woebegone condition ! Let me brush you up and make 
you decent before Gerald comes, or he’ll not own you for a 
brother. He’s the most awfully neat and tidy of human creat- 
ures, and can’t bear a hair out of its place. There, how do you 
like that ?” 

The “ that ” was an energetic combing of my hair — making 
my eyes water and my red face redder — with a pocket-comb 
which she produced from her pocket for the purpose. 

“ Very much indeed, Aileen,” I answered, heroically. 

“ Oh, perhaps you like that too ?” this “ that” a smart tap on 
my ear from the softest little hand imaginable. 

“ I feel it, Aileen, especially the injustice of it, but I’ll try to 
bear it.” 

“ Oh, you will, will you ? You won’t be asked, sir. The idea 
of pretending to compare your working for bread, and my work- 
ing for Gerald, and for — for — ” 

“ Four others.” 

“ Ridiculous boy ! I wonder how your hair would look parted 
in the middle !” 

“ I dare you to try.” 

“ Every one would take you for a girl, dressed in man’s clothes, 
and with a false moustache.” 

“ I dare you to insult me.” 

“ You’d look exactly like — like the countess, or like an ugly 
me.” 

“Vain little thing! By-the-bye, Aileen, your vanity does as- 
tonish me. How do you venture to put your plain little face 
into perpetual comparison with such dazzling beauty ?” 

“ Isn’t she a beauty !” cried Aileen, releasing me in her de- 
light. “ Gerald is so stupid, he can’t see it. He says she’ll rfo, 
and that’s all.” 

“ ’Tis well,” I said, philosophically. “ ’Tis well for common- 
place little things like you that some men are blind ; otherwise 
how would you ever get married ?” 

“ I’m not ugly,” said Aileen, coloring rather indignantly, but 
recovering her good-humor at sight in a mirror of her own glow- 
ing face ; “ other men don’t think me ugly. I’m sure.” 

“ Perhaps ’tis only brothers that are blind.” 

“ Far more likely. Or perhaps only this one old goose of a 


270 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


brother, who can travel for days together with the most beautiful 
lady in the world and not fall in love with her.” 

“ She and I are too much alike, Aileen.” 

“ Who’s vain now, I wonder ?” 

“ And like and like don’t assimilate well. An alkali requires 
an acid.” 

“ Don’t talk to me about learned things I don’t understand. 
Tell me what she’s like, this treasure in Switzerland ; that will 
be a thousand times more interesting.” 

“ Not like me, certainly.” 

“ Hum ! Brown as a berry, I dare say.” 

“ Rather brown.” 

“ Dumpy and fat ?” 

“ Because I am tall and slim ? Well guessed, Aileen.” 

“ Well, men are enigmas? Downright ugly. I’ll be bound.” 

“ I will crave the law, and penalty, and forfeit of your bond, 
Aileen, in a flood of penitential tears, some day ; if I may be per- 
mitted to thus transpose the words of the immortal Shylock.” 

“ Shylock ! Who was he ? Some old bore of a lawyer, I ex- 
pect. I am right, then ?” 

“ Right undoubtedly, seeing you draw your inference inversely 
from the universally admitted fact of my beauty. And thank 
you, too, for the crooked compliment.” 

“ Crookedly got at, Charley, with a line and hook. But I was 
always a rare hand at guessing. I’ve an intuitive talent for it.” 

“ So I should think.” 

“ My guesses always turn out correct.” 

“ So I should imagine.” 

“ To a T. I always knew you wouldn’t sell yourself for a 
duke’s daughter.” 

“ Marvellous far-sightedness !” 

“ But would throw yourself away.” 

“ Stupendous power of prophecy !” 

“ Nevertheless, ‘ brown, dumpy, fat, downright ugly,’ doesn’t 
sound attractive.” 

“ Hardly ; but when Eros aims at him, shoots him straight 
through the heart, what’s a fellow to do ?” 

“What, indeed? or a girl, either? But — Eros means love, 
doesn’t it ? — love’s shaft must have been barbed with something ^ 
So it was, Aileen,’^ 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


271 


“ She can’t be rich, for the man who would give up Ballyacora 
wouldn’t be caught with money,” said Aileen, her pretty fore- 
finger in her pouting mouth. “ Perhaps she’s very clever. It’s 
always been a comfort to me that Gerald doesn’t care for clever 
women. He says they’re mostly ugly. AVhat are you laughing 
at, Charley ?” 

“Was I laughing ? Perhaps at the recollection of my own 
many discomfitures with her in argument.” 

“ Goodness ! don’t go bringing her here to make a fool of me. 
Supremely clever and supremely ugly. I tremble in my shoes !” 

“Well you may, Aileen. She’s made me tremble many a 
time.” 

“ Keep her to yourself, then. Don’t bring her to us. I won’t 
have her.” 

“ She might teach you something.” 

“ I won’t be taught. No, nor kiss you either, sir. Go and 
kiss your woman in Switzerland.” 

“ Why, you see, Aileen, she isn’t exactly the sort of woman — ” 

“ To be kissed. I should think not ; I should imagine not. 
Oh, you deluded boy! oh, you miserably taken -in Charley! 
What’s her learning going to do for you when you are sick or 
ill trouble?” 

“ Teach her the right sort of herb to administer.” 

“ When you want a good dinner, and can’t pay for a cook ?” 

“ Teach her that cockles or eggs have not the chemical ele- 
ments suitable — What are you blushing for, Aileen ?” 

“ I’m not blushing ; or, if I am, it’s from pure anger. Go, 
for goodness’ sake, back to Switzerland.” 

“You may be sure I shall, as soon as — To confess the hu- 
miliating truth. I’m rather short of cash just at present.” 

“ And Gerald hasn’t a penny to lend you for such a purpose ; 
neither have I.” 

“You are a friend in need, Aileen !” 

“ I’m fit to cry. I’d like to go up-stairs and cry for hours. I 
hoped your wife would be a real friend to me, some one I could 
love ; but who can love bones and brains ? Better far you had 
married a duke’s daughter, even though we should never meet 
again. I cannot digest this creature in spectacles.” 

“ I don’t want you to. I want to keep her for my own diges- 
tion. Who told you she wore spectacles, by-the-bye ?” 


272 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Those blue-stockings always do. I can see her as plain as 
plain. Rather sallow than brown, a lumpy forehead, eyes as 
fishy as the viscount’s, scraggy hair, scraggy shoulders, lank and 
bony.” 

“ Oh, you vicious little thing ! How dare you talk to me like 
that of my fiancee ? Besides, I thought she was lumpy and fat.” 

“ No, no. There’s some comfort in lumpiness and fatness. 
There’s some humanity in them. There’s none — not a morsel 
— in your femme savante^ your stony-eyed Swiss professoress, 
your chemical ogress. Ugh ! you’ve made me perfectly miser- 
able. No, I won’t sit on your knee ; I wouldn’t usurp that creat- 
ure’s place for ever so. Gerald wouldn’t let me, either. That’s 
his knock. Let me go to him.” 

Exit Aileen, flushed, dishevelled, pouting ; a living and lovely 
image of a naughty little woman who, having conjured up a 
wasp to sting her, presses the tormentor to her bosom, hugs the 
pain to keep it warm, and won’t let any one remove it or try to 
alleviate the smart. For imagining a grievance, gloating over it, 
refusing to part with it, making the very utmost of it, let a 
woman alone ! 

Also, for bearing “ perfect misery,” not only with the stoicism 
of a hero, but the gayety of a faun. Aileen, with that sting in 
her bosom — a real one, for there were real teats in her eyes — 
manages to make us all very nearly perfectly happy. She makes 
me forget Ballyacora Hall and my empty pockets, and think only 
of Therese ; ‘ makes her husband forget City troubles and won- 
derful designs that have been rejected, and think only of a hap- 
py home, with the loveliest little wife always there to fill it with 
perpetual sunshine ; makes the pale, beautiful countess forget the 
pine-woods of Hungary and perfidious princes, and learn that 
there are still guileless and glad homes in merry England ; makes 
us all feel to the inmost core of our hearts what happiness, what 
blessings, a woman may bestow, if she only will. 

I had hardly thought about the puzzle as to where I was to 
spend the night, when I was informed by a. peremptory little 
woman, in the most peremptory manner possible, that my bed- 
room was ready for me ; that they were all getting terribly tired 
of my company ; and that I must submit to be as ignominiously 
hurried off to bed as if I had been a naughty boy in disgrace. 
Where tho bedroom came from I don’t pretend to know. Per- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


273 


haps Aileen — cunning little fairy ! — conjured it into being for 
the occasion. But it was a real and tolerably substantial one. 
The bed — a four-poster — did not give way under me, and was 
wide enough and long enough even for a fellow of my length 
and bulk. I wondered who the last occupant was as I slowly 
undressed, and what sort of a dandy he might have been. I 
concluded he was a dandy, And a stiff one, because, mechanically 
opening a drawer, I had discovered therein razors in close juxta- 
position with curl-papers. Byron used to curl his hair, didn’t he ? 

I dreamed about this dandy when I finally fell asleep after a 
long period of restlessness ; and he was not one, but two, or, 
rather, two in one. I dreamed also of my father, and of Mabel, 
and of a wayside ditch. I dreamed, furthermore, of a vacuum, 
painful, unbearable, and of something filling it. I dreamed of 
Poverty, in the garb of an angel, with soft eyes and hands, only 
strong and tender, never rough. I dreamed of scrambling over 
hedge and ditch, across fire and through water, to get at Love, 
and of its divine presence in my heart. I dreamed of the one 
thing money is powerless to buy — the only thing which makes 
life worth the living. 

And I awoke to a sense of peace and safety and security, such 
as I had not felt for months. The rock whereon my life had 
been anchored had been shattered by an earthquake, and I was 
adrift upon the great ocean of time to shift for myself. But I 
was young and strong, my own hand upon the rudder, the wind 
of heaven in my sails, Hope at my bows, Love itself beside me, 
its omnipotent touch rousing up forces hitherto undreamed of ; 
resources hitherto stagnant ; powers which, without the knowl- 
edge taught by it, would have rusted away in obscurity. 


CHAPTER XL. 

HUMBLE PIE. 

“ Doch wer ist so gebildet, dass er nicbt seine Vorziige gegen andere manch- 
mal auf eine grausarae Weise geltend machte? Wer steht so hoch, dass er 
unter einem solchen Druck nicht manchmal leiden miisste ?” 

Goethe ( Wahlverwandtschaften), 

The next day I had some private conversation with my brother- 
in-law. Our positions were curiously reversed since he had 
18 


274 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


sent me that letter to Giitsch. It was he who had the whip- 
hand now, and I’m bound to say he made me feel it. Not with 
ungenerous intent; he only put me through some preliminary 
paces ; and if he struck sharply on a raw spot now and then, it 
was doubtless but to try my temper. “ Fiery and full of mettle, 
restive yet teachable,” was, I think, his final verdict ; “ resents 
both whip and curb, but wdll do his best without either.” 

“You understand French, German, and Italian, I think you 
said ?” he inquired, after a short period of silence, during which 
he sat frowning and biting his under lip. 

“ All three perfectly. And Latin and Greek, too, as well as 
most fellows.” 

“ Latin and Greek be hanged ! We don’t want them.” 

I kept my temper. I did. It nearly broke loose through my 
clenched teeth, but I did keep it, and only drew my breath hard 
for a few seconds. 

“ You say ‘ perfectly,’ ” he added, with a mocking half -smile 
which made me writhe, it was so possible to construe it into a 
sneer. “ You mean ‘ fairly.’ You can write a decent letter in 
all three languages without any glaring mistakes in spelling or 
grammar ?” 

“ I mean what I say,” I retorted, haughtily. 

“ Good. But, my lad, you’ll have sometimes, in your new ca- 
reer, not to say all you mean.” 

“ I beg your pardon. I mean now that I can write in these 
languages without any glaring mistakes in grammar.” 

“ Oh, you’ll do, I dare say. A colleague of mine — if I may 
venture to call him so — quite a great gun in the profession, 
whose design for some foreign building has been accepted — 
told me the other day he wanted a foreign correspondent — not 
a German. The Germans are crack hands at that sort of thing, 
but he’s got a spite against them.” 

“ I shall be very glad to accept the post.” 

“ Not quite so fast, my lad. It isn’t thrown at your head yet. 
There are a good many preliminaries — deucedly unpleasant ones, 
too. You are not accustomed to a dish of humble pie, are you? 
Well, I’ve had to eat my share ; I shall have more to eat, I dare 
say ; most men get it served out to them occasionally in work- 
ing their way up through life. But I can tell you, if you’ve a 
proud stomach, it’s uncommonly apt to stick in your throat,” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


275 


It was sticking there now — a piece of it. That more-than- 
once-repeated “ my lad ” of his, adopted since yesterday, wouldn’t 
accommodate itself to my palate at all. “ What the deuce — ” 
I muttered, and could not help myself. 

“ Did you speak ?” 

“ Only in soliloquy.” 

“ Hum ! A bad habit, my lad. The sort of habit that’s apt 
to make employers think you’re talking at them. And they 
don’t like it. And what they don’t like, you know, you’ll have 
to lump.” 

I began to think that earning one’s bread was a confoundedly 
unpleasant business, and that my brother-in-law, without Aileen, 
was as disagreeable a fellow as I ever met in my life. 

Meanwhile he sat opposite me, his hands in his trousers pock- 
ets, his legs as indifferent to the majesty of my presence as if I 
had been a nobody, his keen, bright gray eyes upon my down- 
cast face, his upper lip partially raised with that suspicious smile 
so translatable into a sneer. He was putting me through my 
paces, trying my temper, and the process was — where am I to 
find a strong enough adjective without trespassing on the unal- 
lowable ? 

“ I’ll take you to call upon him to-morrow morning,” he con- 
tinued, jingling coin in those pockets of his as if on purpose to 
remind me that I had none to jingle. “ To-day I have an en- 
gagement. To-day the ladies must take care of you. Your old 
nurse lives close by in this row, and is almost a daily guest of 
ours. You can go and see her if you like, or wait for this even- 
ing, when she’ll come and see you. By Jove ! that’s a woman 
in a million ! — a woman with a history. She’ll tell it you, I 
dare say.” 

“ How did you get to know her ?” 

“ She was a friend of my mother’s, her only friend when she 
was in trouble. I come of a good stock, but was the only son 
of my mother, and she a widow. I’ve had to fight my way, 
inch by inch. This little house is a palace to some I’ve lived in. 
But I’ll go up, not down. If I live, Aileen — bless her ! — shall 
have a better home some day ; though I think we couldn’t have 
a happier one.” 

I thought he wasn’t so bad but that he might have been worse 
after all, 


276 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ I’ve been Jack of ever so many trades since I commenced 
my brilliant career,” he continued, smiling ; “ a career which 
had been rather meteor-like and erratic up to my marriage, when 
it entered, as in duty bound, upon a steady course round a house- 
hold sun. I know the taste of humble pie in its every stage, 
from nauseous chewing to painful digestion, and can truly say 
that it is bitterer in the mouth than in the stomach, where not 
unfrequently it may prove a wholesome tonic, I dare say. I be- 
gan life myself, after being detached from my mother’s apron- 
strings, as a Christ’s Hospital boy — ran away on account of a 
most unaccountable but absolutely invincible prejudice to the 
cane and yellow stockings ; began it again as a lawyer’s clerk — 
ran away on account of a, no doubt, richly deserved but unap- 
preciated box on the ear ; began it again as a surgeon’s appren- 
tice — ran away on account of an overdose of cold mutton and an 
overdose of strychnine, the latter of which, but for the stomach- 
pump, might have destroyed the hope of a family and brought 
me to the gallows ; began it again as a student for Holy Orders 
— ran away because of the Thirty-nine Articles and the Athana- 
sian Creed.” 

“ Your conscience, I suppose, wouldn’t allow — ” 

“ Conscience, my dear fellow, was innocent of the whole affair. 
Conscience is rather hardly dealt with ; she is, not seldom, ille- 
gally and cruelly overladen — a great deal of the load being un- 
justly forced upon her. It was the fault of a, no doubt, not 
sufficiently disciplined Inclination, which cunningly incited 
Memory to become an ally. Together they turned sulky, would 
have nothing to do with the Thirty-nine Articles, and let the 
creed of St. Athanasius wilfully escape again as fast as it w'as 
taken prisoner. The keeping anything in custody — even the 
sublime ritual of the Church of England — wasn’t in their line, 
they swore — the jades !” 

I could not help laughing ; but though his gray Irish eyes, 
with that dash of wicked humor in them, twinkled a response, 
his firm, massively moulded, resolute, rather obstinate-looking 
English mouth and chin- were as solemn as those of a judge. 
His Inclination resembled himself, beyond a doubt ; smooth and 
docile enough, stroked the right way ; rough, and emitting dan- 
gerous sparks of electricity, if handled in the wrong one. 

And, whom do you think I ran to ?” he inquired. 


Through love to life. 


211 


“ To your mother, I suppose.” 

“ Niver a bit. I’m half an Irishman, you know, and my 
mother was a whole one ; forgive the hull, it’s intuitive. She’d 
have given me a true Irish reception ; been sorry for it after- 
wards, I da^e say ; but will sorrow mend a broken head ?” 

“ Not exactly.” 

“ You see we were too much alike not to quarrel. She loved 
me passionately ; yet her love was like her words many a time 
— too hot not to hurt you. So I’d let her blow off the super- 
fluous steam and cool down a bit in solitude, the while I put my 
body and my cause into the most loving, and firm, and tender 
hands I knew of in the whole wide world — into those of your 
aunt — bless me, the head of the cat ! Wouldn’t Aileen blow 
me up if she knew ! — your nurse, I mean.” 

“ Yet ‘ rolling stones,’ ” I said, too stupid to understand him, 
“ ‘ gather no moss.’ ” 

“ Thrue for ye, my boy, and a narrow escape for me into the 
bargain. Aileen’s a darling, but I have her strict commands ; 
and, womanlike, when she does come down upon a fellow, she 
knows neither end nor mercy. But then, you see, I was only 
rolling away from what Nature never intended me for. ’Twas 
she herself gave the impetus.” 

“ What did she intend you for ?” 

He took up a blotting-book and pencil and rapidly sketched 
the most compact little villa imaginable — not an artist’s sketch, 
an architect’s. 

“ This. How do you like it ? Dwelling-rooms here, kitchens, 
etcetera^ behind. See, this corner utilized will make a smoking-room 
for a prince, and the neatest little bedroom over it. Elizabethan 
style, mark you ; nothing like it for a house. ’Tis my idea for 
Aileen’s future residence, somewhere on the banks of the Thames 
— Richmond way. Stables small ; we don’t go in for magnifi- 
cence. Just room for a carriage-horse, and one for her to ride. 
She’s fond of riding — the dear ! Heigho ! while the grass is 
growing the steed may starve, and the hill-top is a long way off 
yet. I’m content with stubble, been used to it all my life, but 
I’d like her — I’d like her, my precious wife, to live in clover.” 

I began to think that Aileen might have married a duke, lived 
in the stateliest castle in the land — wallowed in luxury, so to 
speak — and done worse. I began to think that a man had no 


278 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


need to be as handsome as myself to be thoroughly admirable. 
With his gray Irish eyes all aglow, his resolute mouth softened 
and sweetened by a smile tender enough to win any woman’s 
affection, Gerald Malcolmson deserved the stamp of hearty ap- 
proval which my heart, as well as conscience, now ^impressed 
upon him. I began to like my brother-in-law. 

Then I took up his sketch ; somewhat stormily asserting, to 
hide the ignominious fact that I was moved — though why men, 
with men, should be so intensely ashamed of any show of feel- 
ing, I can’t imagine — that the little design for the villa, at pres- 
ent en EspagnCj couldn’t be improved on. “ I like it immense- 
ly,” I said ; adding, “ So it was my dear old nurse who was your 
guardian angel too ? Is she a relation of yours ?” 

“ No,” he said, shaking his brown head, “ I’m only a usurper 
on her affections ; I’ve no inherited and natural right to them, 
as you have. By Jove ! the cat again ! If I don’t take care my 
own household cat, which Aileen keeps somewhere with her 
curl-papers, will be put into severe requisition this night. Yes, 
it was your nurse who was always ready to open a kind door 
and kinder heart to the runaway ; first feeding me until I could 
hardly walk (women always think, if a boy’s in trouble, he must 
be hungry), and then marching me off with tears of pity, but 
with unfaltering firmness, to the earthly arbiter of my fate — 
the rich bachelor uncle who paid for my several beginnings in 
life and took unwilling acknowledgment out of me in castiga- 
tions !” 

“ Castigations ?” 

“ Ay, he had heavily purchased that right, you see ; and has 
scored his accounts against me on my body many a time. He 
was a lawyer, he was, and understood the dodge of cross-ques- 
tioning a fellow into lies, and then licking him for it, better than 
any man I ever knew. Peace be to his memory ! He tried, 
and gloriously failed, to cross-question my nature into a lie. 
But my nature was too honest for him.” 

“ Is he dead ?” 

“ No ; married a wife to cheat me out of my inheritance, and 
may be seen and heard by the curious any day still in the great 
court at Westminster, and in gown and wig, cross-questioning 
people into idiocy. Glorious exhibition that, of British justice 
and British acumen in getting at the truth ! A modern substi- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


279 


tute for the thumbscrew. Well, he made me an architect, for 
which I say with all my heart, ‘ Peace to his memory !’ I see 
him occasionally still, but he never sees me. Heigho ! climbing 
is hard work after all, without a helping hand. By the blessed 
St. Patrick, my glorious namesake — you didn’t know I was chris- 
tened Patrick as well as Gerald, did you. Don’t split on a fel- 
low ; I ignore it, even on my door-plate — it’s ten o’clock ; I must 
go !” 

He put out his hand, smiling now a candid and unsuspicious 
smile it did you good to see. 

“Don’t bear malice, old fellow. You began by hating me 
just now with forty-engine power. Your face is too ingenuous 
by a long way ; when you are hit, you wince terribly. You 
must learn not to wince, and then people won’t hurt you.” 

I remembered Patsey, my groom, and my first live pony, and 
knew he was right. 

“ You remember the proverbial fox and his wise remark when 
they were skinning him, don’t you ? I often thought of it when 
my uncle was scoring his accounts against me on my body, and 
it’s wonderful how it consoled me. Have you forgiven me for 
getting a grain of amusement at your expense — eh? Well, you 
will to-morrow, I dare say. Good morning.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

.COALS OF FIRE. 

“ Blasen ist nicht floten ; ihr raiisst die Finger bewegen.” 

Goethe {Spruche in Prosa). 

My brother-in-law was as good as his word. The next morn- 
ing I was exalted to a position wherein I need be indebted to 
no one for my daily bread, I became “ foreign correspondent ” 
to that eminent architect, Mr. Multum Inparvo, whose name, 
doubtless, every one will recollect. 

And my salary was to be one hundred pounds per annum. 
One hundred pounds, with the prospect of advance if I proved 
satisfactory. 

Also with pen and paper ad and with humble pie, not 

exactly ad libitum^ but in superabundance. 


280 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


I pawned my emerald ring to a jeweller, who seemed, oddly 
enough, to know all about me. It was only gentlemen under 
clouds whom he accommodated, he told me, with a finger at the 
side of his nose. It was a big nose and a hooked one. And 
gentlemen under clouds were lawful prey. If at the end of, say, 
six months, clouds should disperse, old gent relent, or favorites 
favor me, why, there you were, you know, at a fair usury for the 
money advanced you. 

I had still three weeks of liberty before entering upon my 
new duties and the brilliant income of one hundred pounds a 
year. I had time enough to fetch my wife from Switzerland. 

Aileen, although still solemnly mournful over my delusion in 
preferring a Swiss petrifaction to a beautiful flesh-and-blood 
countess, nevertheless was too full of love and sympathy to turn 
her back upon me. 

“ What must be must, I suppose,” she said, resignedly. “ And 
till you have saved enough money to furnish, you must come 
here, if <S'^e’ll put up with an ignorant little thing like me. I’ve 
got the ‘ Encyclopaedia Britannica,’ and mean to try and read it 
through before She comes ” (Aileen always spoke of her with a 
capital) ; “ but I don’t mind confessing to you, Charley, that it’s 
awfully hard work, and so difficult to keep the thread. Gerald 
won’t help me, and only roars with laughter whenever he sees 
me at it.” 

I tried not to smile, but the idea of Aileen’s golden head bent 
over that “ Encyclopaedia ” was almost irresistible. 

“ Where are you going to find room for us ?” I inquired. 

“ Well, there is that difficulty,” acknowledged Aileen, knitting 
her fair little forehead in her perplexity ; “ but I think I could 
manage if Gerald and I went out to sleep. It’s no good send- 
ing out Margery, her bed is too small.” 

I drew her little golden head to my heart with a passionate 
fraternal affection such as I had never felt before. How rich I 
was with such a sister ! 

And then there was Mabel ! Just as if they wanted to undo 
me with their coals of fire on my head. 

That very afternoon — I was going to start on the morrow — 
came a letter from her. 

A letter all blotted and tear-stained, containing forty -five 
pounds. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


281 


“ It is all I can scrape together, Charley,” she wrote, “ and it 
is all my very own without robbing papa of a halfpenny. Don’t 
go and refuse it, whatever you do, for it would break my heart 
entirely if you did. Tell Aileen I got her letter through Tom- 
kins, who is a feeling man, though only a butler. He is going 
to smuggle this to the post for me. And he says, Charley dear, 
that I am to tell you that if you want any help for the present 
he will he only too proud to help you. ‘ Please, miss,’ he said, 
*■ tell Mr. Charles that I haven’t no doubts myself of his pa com- 
ing round, as it stands to reason he should, and he as handsome 
a young gentleman and as pleasant spoken as I ever set eyes on ’ 
(meaning you). ‘ And if ’tis because of a young woman,’ he said, 
*■ as most mischief is, tell him, miss, that ’twas because of a young 
woman with me too, and since I took her, there’s been a great 
deal more of the better than of the worse, and I’ve never been 
sorry. And these remarks, miss,’ so he went on, ‘ are only like 
the corkscrew to the bottle ; the wine being, so to speak, miss, 
that if Mr. Charles should be in want of a fifty-pound note, or so, 
till the air is clear again, why, Tomkins, miss, has got it to give 
him, and proud to do it. Miss Mabel.’ 

“ I nearly threw my arms round the dear old creature’s neck, 
Charley, but remembered in time that it might seem odd to a 
butler, and perhaps get me into trouble. So now good-bye, and 
God bless you ! 

“ P.S. — ^Don’t wonder if this letter smells rather of the stables. 
In fact, I am writing it there on Fanny’s back, who stands won- 
derfully still, and only turns her bonny head sometimes to look 
at me as if she understood all about it. Papa thinks I’m out 
riding. 

“ P.SS. — Papa had a letter this morning from my Lord and 
my Lady Kilreeny. They are at Nice, and apparently neither 
find it nice, nor each other. In fact, they seem awfully bored. 
Serve ’em right ! 

“ Good-bye once more. Fanny won’t stand still any longer.” 

Then there was my dear old nurse ! The idea, she said, 
of her dear boy, or her dear boy’s wife, ever wanting a roof to 
cover them, while she was there ! Of course we must first 
come to her, until things had got straight a bit; and with my 
hundred pounds per annum, and her income, we should be 
almost rich. 


282 


THROUGH LOVK TO LIF£. 


Oh, what should we men do without these dear, loving, hope- 
ful women, whom God gave us ! 

But I had my own private anxiety, which I could not share 
with any one. How had I dared to utter that audacious false- 
hood — to wit, that Therese was my fiancee? How did I know 
that she would marry me at all ? 

For I had hesitated to ask her to share my wealth, and now I 
could only ask her to share my poverty. Compared to this 
anxiety, how small appeared the minor one as to how we should 
live ! 


CHAPTER XLH. 

A MOTHERLESS BABE. 

“ Mutter ? 

— 0 Himmel, gib, dass ich es dem vergesse, 

Der sie zu meiner Mutter machte !” 

Schiller (Don Carlo^. 

The evening before I started for the Continent, to return, as 
I fondly hoped, with my wife, we all spent together at the house 
of my nurse. Aileen’s little stool was at her husband’s feet, and 
the countess sat with her beautiful eyes fixed upon my nurse’s 
face. She was fond of us all, I am sure, but for my nurse she 
had a special affection, watching her every movement, antici- 
pating her every wish, and always happiest when she was near 
her. 

And my nurse certainly reciprocated this affection. She 
would watch the girl’s fair face with earnest attention, follow 
her about the room with her eyes, and when their hands met, a 
perceptible tremor ran through them both, not of pain but of an 
exquisite joy. 

Indeed, this attachment had grown so strong that we never 
now dreamed of separating them. My search for that enigmat- 
ical Mrs. or Miss Smith had entirely relaxed its vigor. To find 
her would have been to find a possible obstacle to our present 
happiness, so I ceased to mention her, and the countess ceased 
to remind me. 

We had been dining late — a sort of farewell dinner in my 
honor — and a modest decanter of wine and a little dessert still 


TllIiOUGli LOVE LO LIFE. 


283 


stood upon the table. My nurse had taken up her knitting, 
Aileen was sewing vigorously at those tiny and mysterious gar- 
ments which occupied so much of her attention. The countess 
was helping her. As for Malcolmson and myself, we had ob- 
tained gracious permission from Mistress Aileen — who assumed 
authority everywhere in a way that would have been most repre- 
hensible if it had not been so charming — to smoke a modest 
cigar. And we were making the most of the privilege. 

But my restlessness was beginning to get the better of me as 
I thought of the morrow and of what lay before me. I seemed 
to feel Therese at my side, and to hear her sweet, perverse 
“ Monsieur ” at my ear. My heart began to beat fast, my cheeks 
to burn hotly. I must find something to distract me or I should 
grow wild. 

Just then Malcolmson’s words returned to me, as if some one 
had whispered them into my brain : 

“ A woman with a history. She’ll tell it you, I dare say.” 

“ Nurse,” I said, “ talk, this evening, and tell us something.” 

She looked at me, smiling. 

“ That is just what I have been thinking of,” she said. “ So, 
if you won’t weary of an old woman’s talk, my dears, to-night I 
will tell you something I want you all to know.” 

The countess rose timidly. She was ever fearful of intrud- 

ing- 

“Sit down again, my dear,” said my nurse, laying her hand 
caressingly upon the girl’s arm ; “ you belong to us now, and 
somehow I feel as if what I have to say is as much for you as 
for the rest.” 

So the countess sat down, and my nurse began. 

“ It was on my twentieth birthday, my dears. That’s a long 
time ago now. I had a strange dream, and that dream seems to 
make the beginning of my story, for my life had been very dull 
before that, except for one thing. Ah, my Charley, you think 
no one ever loved like you before, and I thought then that no 
one ever loved like me, for his coming made the first brightness 
in my life. 

“We were only three — my father, my brother Charles, and 
myself — my father had a shop on Ludgate Hill. He was a 
leather-cutter, and had a good business. Outside the shop door 
was our name in tarnished gold letters : Charles Smith & Son.” 


284 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Here my nurse looked at me, and with a sudden start of en- 
lightenment I returned her gaze. But I said nothing. She 
went on : 

“ My brother Charles helped my father in the shop, and I kept 
house for them. I never remember my mother, but my father 
was very strict with us. I used to go out in the morning to 
make our household purchases, but I never went out at any 
other time without my father’s express permission. My brother 
Charles had a little more liberty than I, but not much. My 
father kept a tight hand over both of us. 

“ He was a very handsome man for his years, at that time ; 
tall and portly, with clear blue eyes, and hair only just begin- 
ning to turn gray. His chin was very large and firm, and, though 
he spoke little, when he spoke we could not help trembling. If 
he had told me to jump from the roof of the house, I should have 
done it, my dears. 

“ One evening we were all sitting together as usual. My fa- 
ther was smoking out of a long pipe ; my brother was poring over 
a dog’s-eared book of figures ; 1 was sewing and thinking of Aim, 
my Arthur, who soon was coming to ask my father to let him 
marry me, and take me home with him to be the happiest little 
woman in London. 

“ And it was the evening before my twentieth birthday. 

“ I think I must have been smiling a little, my dears, for I 
thought of the sweet words that he, my Arthur, had said to me, 
and all the room seemed full of pleasant things to come. And 
I was very happy, for the future promised to be so different from 
the past. 

“Then my father said, looking at me through the cloud of 
smoke in which he sat — 

“ ‘ Mary, go pack a bag for me, child. You’ll know what I 
want. I start to-morrow for Paris.’ 

“We knew very little of the outside world, my dears — at 
least, I did ; but I knew that Paris was a dangerous place to 
go to, and a long way off — much longer than it is now. And I 
had never known my father set foot out of England before in 
my life. 

“ I saw my brother lift his cold blue eyes and fix them watch- 
fully on my father’s face. 

“ ‘ How long are you going to be away, father ?’ I said. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


285 


“ ‘ Long enough to get there and back again,’ he answered, 
shortly ; ‘ a fortnight, maybe.’ 

“ I opened my mouth to say something else, but he was smok- 
ing hard again, and his eyes were upon the empty grate ; so I 
went and did his bidding. 

“ And it was that night, my dears, that I had my dream. 

“ I dreamed there was a great earthquake, which shook our 
old house to its centre. And then there was a crash, and the 
walls seemed to be falling all about me. And I tried to escape, 
and could not. And my brother stood and mocked me, laugh- 
ing at my hopeless efforts. 

“ Then, just as I thought all was over, my Arthur came and 
held out his hand, and I grasped it and knew I was saved. And 
I felt supremely happy — more happy than I can describe, or 
ever really felt except in a dream. 

“ Then I heard my father calling me. 

“ And I turned and looked, and he was standing there amidst 
the falling walls, and a little child was in his arms. 

“ A little child, who spoke out clear and loud, and said, in a 
commanding sort of way, that would have been most unnatural 
out of a dream : 

“ ‘ Mary, come and save me !’ 

“ And I was forced to obey, my dears, even though my Arthur 
pulled at my hand and would not let me go. I tore away from 
him, and went back and took the child in my arms and held it 
in my bosom. 

“ Then the walls fell all around us, and we were in the dark- 
ness, and I could feel nothing except the warmth of the child 
upon my heart. 

“ And I awoke. 

“ I never forgot that dream, my dears, for it was my twentieth 
birthday, and the day my father went to Paris, and things hap- 
pened afterwards which made it seem like a prophecy. 

“ In the morning my father started, on the coach beside the dri- 
ver. When he got up, he said, in his stern way, looking hard at me : 

“ ‘ I shall bring some one back with me, Mary. Have a room 
ready.’ 

“ My brother started slightly, looking sideways at my father’s 
face. 

‘ A gentleman, father ?’ 


286 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ ‘ No, a lady.’ 

“ I dared not question further, for his heavy chin was pushed 
out and his under lip drawn in a little ; and when he looked like 
that, I was silent. 

“ Then he stooped and kissed me, saying : 

“ ‘ No gaddings about, remember. And you, Charles, my son, 
mind the business and mind your sister while I am away.’ 

“ It was hardly a fortnight before he was back again, bringing 
with him a young girl, almost like a child, who looked up at me 
with large, dark, pitiful eyes. Her face was as white as a snow- 
drift, and her hair, long and wavy, fell almost to her feet, when 
I took off the hood covering it. And my father bade us call 
her Louise. 

“ She could speak English a little, and soon learned to talk it 
easily. But who she was, my dears, or where she came from, I 
cannot tell you. The grave has long since closed over her and 
the secret she brought into our house. I know nothing more of 
her than what I shall tell you. 

“ She was very sad at first, and would sit hour after hour, her 
small hands clasped, her dark eyes looking straight before her. 
Once or twice I took her out with me, hoping to rouse her up a 
bit ; but the noise and bustle of the streets seemed to terrify 
her. At last she refused to go altogether, saying : 

‘ Let me be ; I am contented here in the quiet house. I can- 
not bear the rush outside, and the roar and the fierce struggle 
for life. I have had enough of that already.’ 

“ But once, following me round the house, she caught sight of 
an old spinet which had been my mother’s. And, with a loud 
cry, half pain and half delight, she sat down to sing and play. 
And she played, my dears, until I fancied the angels of God 
would throw open the gates of heaven only to listen. 

“ She grew fond of me after a bit, but she was fonder of my 
father, and it was strange to see how fond he grew of her. He 
used to let her sit at his knee, and sometimes would stroke her 
cheek with a kind of loving tenderness that he had never be- 
fore shown to any one. At such moments my heart would come 
into my mouth, and hot tears into my eyes, and the ground would 
seem to shake under me. 

“ There was some one else, my dears, who used to watch them 
also, 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


287 


“ I don’t know exactly how I found out that my brother loved 
Louise, and that she disliked him and was terrified when he ap- 
proached her. The knowledge of it made me very miserable, 
for I knew how he could hate when he was crossed. And, sit- 
ting among them evening after evening, I used to feel as if we 
were all upon a barrel of gunpowder, and that if a spark fell we 
should be blown up, every one of us. 

“ And 1 resolved to watch them very closely, and always to 
stay with Louise when my father was out. 

“ But one day, my dears, temptation came, and I did wrong. 
And oh, my dears, only God knows what I had to suffer for it ! 

“ My father had gone out for the evening, and I chanced to 
go to the door, and there was my Arthur waiting for me. And 
he told me that his father had taken him into partnership, and 
that in another year he was coming to fetch his wife. And he 
told it me in such a way, my dears, that I forgot everything 
but my own happiness. 

“ Then, all of a sudden, I remembered that I had left my 
brother and Louise together. And I hurried back into the 
house. 

“ But I was too late. My brother was standing in our little 
parlor, his face as white as ashes, and Louise was lying on the 
ground, the blood streaming from her mouth. 

“ I carried her up to bed, and sitting beside her that night, 
my dears, I prayed God to forgive me, and I would never leave 
duty for pleasure again. 

“ And he heard my prayer. She did not die. 

“ That night, in her feverish talk, I found out what had hap- 
pened. ‘ I will not marry you,’ she said, not if you kill me ! 
Let me go ; I cannot bear you to touch me.’ 

“ She soon got better. She had broken a blood-vessel, the 
doctor said. Nobody knew but me what had been the cause, 
and I never spoke of it. 

“Yet, I think my father had some uneasy suspicion that all 
was not right. From the day she came down again Louise was 
like his shadow. From that time she slept with me, and would 
wake up in the night, crying, ‘Let me go, I cannot bear you. 
I will kill myself if you kiss me;’ until my heart sometimes 
used almost to stand still with fear. 

“So the summer passed, my dears, and the days began to 


288 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


shorten, and I tried to forget my fears, and to think that all 
was right again. Yet sometimes my brother would look at 
Louise, as she sat on her stool at my father’s feet, with a hot 
gaze that sent a stab right through me. 

“ One very cold morning in November — I remember how the 
wind howled in the chimney and round the corner outside the 
shop — my father bade Louise put on her bonnet and shawl, ^nd 
then, taking her cold little hand, led her out of the house. It 
was so bitter cold that I ran after them with an extra comforter 
for Louise, and as she looked up at me I saw that she had been 
crying. Yet the soft touch of her little hand on my arm seemed 
to tell me not to be frightened. 

“ The tears came into my eyes too, as I stood looking after 
them — the old man and the girl, side by side. For my father 
had stooped over me and kissed my forehead, and said, in a 
voice almost as gentle as when he spoke to Louise : 

“ ‘ You are a good girl, Mary. God bless you !’ 

“They stayed away all day, and when they returned I ran 
out to meet them. They were coming round a corner, and he 
was looking down at her with a look of supreme tenderness, 
while her dark eyes were raised to his as, with a smile, she 
nestled closer to his side. 

“ Tea was ready, and I drew her into the room where was 
a blazing fire. And she threw her arms round my neck, and 
kissed me, and patted my hand with a pretty little air of pro- 
tection quite new and strange in her. 

“ My brother was there too, and I wished he had not been, 
for his eyes were upon Louise’s face with that look in them I 
disliked so much.” And she looked so pretty ! — the cold wind 
had brought a little color to her pale face, and her dark eyes 
were bright and smiling. 

“ After tea, my father said, suddenly, as he took the pipe I 
offered him : 

“‘Mary, and you, Charles, my son, this lady’ — ^he laid his 
hand gently on Louise’s dark curls — ‘has to-day become my 
wife. From this time’ — and here he looked straight at my 
brother — ‘she is mistress here, and your mother. You will 
treat her as such, remember.’ 

“ Saying which, he put the pipe to his mouth and smoked 
in silence. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


289 


“ If the earth had opened under our feet, I could not have 
been more filled with terror and surprise. I dared not look at 
Charles, but in the deep, deep silence which followed I could 
almost hear the rapid beating of his heart. 

“ But he said not a word. And after a minute he got up and 
left the room. 

“ Then I went over to them and said, as well as I could for 
crying, 

“ ‘ Dear father, sweet girl-mother, I will try not to fail either 
in duty or respect, nor in love either, if you will have it.’ And 
I added, sobbing, 

“ ‘ And may God return upon your own head, ray father, the 
blessing you gave me this morning, and make you very happy 
with your bride.’ 

“ Then I kissed them both, and Louise’s little hand was laid 
on mine, and her eyes spoke plainly : ‘ Mary, you, too, shall be 
happy.’ 

“ Thus I lost again, my dears, my little bedfellow. 

“ Things went on just the same after my father’s marriage. 
Louise left everything to me. And on New-Year’s Day my 
Arthur came and had a long talk with my father, and Louise 
spoke up for me, and it was settled that in the fall we should 
be married. 

“ There was one change, though. My brother spent all his 
evenings out of the house. He never spoke to Louise, nor ever 
looked at her, but though I tried to believe he did, I knew he 
did not, forget. 

“ For his face would burn when ray father kissed his wife, 
and his whole body tremble. And he grew harder every day. 

“ It was early in the following September that the baby was 
born. I remember that there had been some talk about fixing 
my wedding-day, and I told my Arthur that it should be when- 
ever he liked after Louise was well again. I remember thinking 
about it, and of how happy I was, as I sat watching them both 
asleep — the young mother and her pretty baby-boy — the first 
baby that had ever been partly mine, and that I loved already 
almost as if it had been my own altogether. 

“ Then I had a little doze, and dreamed that my wedding-day 
was come, and that I was standing before the altar all in white 
as a bride. 

19 


290 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Ah, my dears, ‘ dream of a wedding, hear of a death.’ 

“ I was awakened by a loud ery. 

“ ‘ Mary, Mary,’ said Louise, ‘ come and save me !’ 

“ I looked round the room in a fright. There was a rushlight 
on the table near, and the fire burned brightly, and I saw there 
was nobody in the room but Louise, and the baby, and me. 

“ But Louise was sitting up in bed, and her black hair fell 
behind her like a pall, and her eyes were wide and staring. 

“ ‘ Lie down again, my sweet,’ I said, ‘ there is no one here ; 
you have been dreaming.’ 

“ ‘ Take him away !’ she screamed, and her face was red as 
fire, and her little hand seemed to burn mine when I touched it. 

‘ I hate him ! I cannot let him touch me !’ 

“ I was so frightened now, my dears, that I ran to fetch the 
nurse, and the nurse ran for the doctor. And he came and bled 
her until she sank back again upon the pillow, whiter than it. 

“ But during the whole night she tossed, and turned, and 
moaned in her sleep. And when my father came she turned 
from him and laughed when they said he was her husband. 

‘ My husband was young and handsome and cruel,’ she said, 

‘ and died on the guillotine.’ 

“ And so she went on for three days. 

I was sitting alone beside her, my dears, on the evening of 
the third day, for the tired nurse slept, and the sight of my fa- 
ther seemed to make her worse. I thought she was better, for 
the flush on her face was gone, and her breathing was quiet. 

“ As I sat watching her she opened her eyes, and in her own 
voice, sweet as music, said : 

“ ‘ I want to kiss my baby, Mary. Give him to me.’ 

“ I lifted the child to her bosom, and she kissed him. 

“ And I saw a tear fall upon his head, golden already, with 
hair soft as silk. 

“ ‘ I was not fit to have a baby,’ she said, ‘ but you will take 
care of him, Mary, and love him, won’t you ?’ 

“ ‘ I will help you take care of him, Louise,’ I said, trembling, 
fcf her words frightened me: ‘my pretty little baby-brother, 
young enough to be my own.’ 

“ She was quiet for a moment, her blue-veined white eyelids 
quivering ; theq she 6aid, 

‘ ‘ How strange it seems, Mary, tl>at you and I, botU of the 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


291 


same age, should have such different fates ! for while your life 
is all before you, mine is ended.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, no, Louise, not yet,’ I said, crying. 

“ ‘ What a life mine has been !’ she said, not heeding me. 
‘ Full of unrest : false joy, false pain, and perhaps false regret ; 
who knows?’ 

“ ‘ But now it will be different,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Now it is over,’ she answered, calmly. ‘ God have mercy 
on me ! Yet I was more sinned against than sinning.’ 

“ Then she added, hurriedly, 

‘ Mary, promise me that you will care for my child.* 

“ ‘ I promise,’ I answered. 

“ ‘ And now, Mary — sweet, good Mary — take me to your noble 
heart and let me die there.’ 

‘‘ I would have called my father, but she clung to me, until 
her clasp relaxed in death. And when the clock struck five I 
gently laid down her dead body and took the baby to my breast. 
And so, my dears, my dream was fulfilled.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

TWO BROTHERS. 

“ The Strawberry grows underneath the nettle ; 

And wholesome berries thrive, and ripen best, 

Neighbored by fruit of baser quality.” 

Henry V. 

“ I don’t know, my dears, how I could have lived through 
the next year but for God helping me. 

“ The first great grief was the knowledge that he whom I loved 
best could try to stand — as he did stand — between me and the 
solemn promise 1 had given to the dead girl. I begged him to 
wait, and he would not, and at last the conflict ceased, and he 
went away altogether. My Arthur, as I used fondly to call 
him, was mine no more. 

“ Oh, it was hard, my dears ! How hard, only those who have 
suffered the like can know. To feel that one dearer to us than 
life can urge us to do wrong I— to be forgotten wbero we have 
love4 ! 


292 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Then my father never rallied. He lived some years, but all 
pleasure in life was gone from him. He hardly ever noticed the 
child. And when Louis — we called the boy Louis, after his 
mother — was five years old, the old man died. 

“ He had been smoking that evening. He had turned against 
smoking, but that evening his beloved pipe was between his lips 
again. I had taken little Louis to bed, and when I came back I 
found that the pipe had dropped from my father’s hand and his 
head fallen forward a little. I put my hand upon him and found 
that he was dead. 

“The doctors said that he died from the bursting of a blood- 
vessel on the brain, but I think he died of grief. 

“ He, left a strange will. He had been a great deal under my 
brother’s influence of late years, and the lawyers said I might 
dispute the will if I liked. But I could not do that, my dears, 
even for Louis’s sake. 

“ All was left to my brother Charles, who was to provide for 
me and for the boy. If I married, he was to give me a portion, 
and to set Louis up in business when he was old enough. 

“ But, really, everything was in his hands, and he could do 
as he liked. 

“ Louis had been a sickly and delicate baby. No wonder : 
he was nursed upon a broken heart. But when he was five years 
old he was the loveliest boy ever seen. His hair fell over his 
shoulders in golden curls ; his little limbs were enchanting to 
look upon ; and as for his eyes, I never saw any of such a brill- 
iant, summer-sky blue, until the same eyes, only gentler, softer, 
looked at me from your pale face, sweet lady.” 

Here my nurse turned to the countess, who had been listen- 
ing in breathless attention. I now saw how agitated she was ; 
there was unusual color on her cheeks, and her lips were parted 
to give free egress to her quickened breath. But she spoke no 
word, only drew a low chair to my nurse’s side and laid her fair 
head upon her knee. 

“ Oh, how I loved him, my dears, the bonniest boy that ever 
lived ! and how I trembled for him, for I knew that my brother 
hated him ? 

“ I taught him to read and write and cipher ; but he taught 
himself to sing. He had such a glorious voice that he was 
Qhoseii for the chqrch choir ; and when he sang thcre^ his voice 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


293 


rising up to the roof of the church, I used to think, as I thought 
of his mother, that the angels would throw open the great gates 
of heaven only to listen. 

“ He was not always good, my poor boy. He was not pas- 
sionate, but had a way of saying things so as to hurt you, and 
he did not seem to mind much about the pain he gave. And 
he was secret, too, keeping his plans to himself, and sometimes 
so self-willed that, though my brother Charles was so hard, I 
could move him sooner than I could move the boy. 

“ I think he was about fourteen, and wonderfully clever, be- 
sides being a fine and strong boy, when my brother Charles, to 
my surprise, asked for him. He had never asked for him be- 
fore, and took as little notice of him as if he had been a dog. 

“ ‘ Where’s that boy?’ he asked. 

“ ‘ He’s up-stairs learning his lessons,’ I Said, and my heart 
began to beat quick ; and I added, 

‘“You look tired ; have you had a busy day ?’ And why I 
said it, my dears, I dare say you can guess. 

“ But my little bit of pretence was of no use. 

“ ‘ Go and fetch him,’ he said, ‘ I want to speak to him.’ 

“ Of course I had to go, my dears. Louis was sitting with 
his elbows on the table, his hands holding his head, and his eyes 
fixed upon a book. 

“ He looked up with a frown, but, oh ! he looked so bonny, 
his cheeks hot and red, his eyes shining, the golden curls pushed 
back from his white forehead. 

“ ‘ Do you love me, dear ?’ I said. 

“ ‘Yes, of course,’ he answered, drawing his head away with 
a jerk, ‘ when you don’t bother me. Go away now, I don’t want 
you.’ 

“ ‘ But I want yow,’ I said ; ‘ put down your elbows, Louis, 
and listen.’ 

“ I spoke very gravely, my dears, and he put down his elbows 
and said, coaxingly, 

“ ‘ Don’t be cross. Sissy. Look here, aren’t these funny let- 
ters ? you couldn’t read this book if you were to try. It is Ger- 
man. Now, I don’t suppose you knew even that.’ 

“ ‘ I didn’t know even that,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Don’t cry, Sissy. What a stupe you are to cry about noth- 
ing ! I know you can’t read it, and you don’t need to, either ; 


294 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


but / can. There’s a man, a friend of mine, lives near our school, 
and he comes from Germany, and he lent me this book, and has 
been teaching me German ever so long on the sly. Oh, it is 
jolly!’ 

“ ‘ It is not like a brave boy to do anything on the sly,’ I said, 
turning away my head to wipe a foolish tear from my eye. 
‘ Give me the book, Louis ; I will see if it is fit for you to read.’ 

“ ‘ Bah, you see ! You wouldn’t understand a word of it, 
Mary, not even the letters. You are only a woman, and women 
are stupid creatures. ’Tis right enough for them to go to church, 
and read their Bibles, and pray to a great Nobody. It gives 
them something to do, and keeps them out of mischief.’ 

“ ‘ Louis, Louis,’ I said, more angrily than I had ever spoken 
to him before, ‘ I will not let you read a book that teaches you 
to talk like that. Give it to me this moment.’ 

“ But he drew it close to him, and crossed both his arms over 
it, and his under lip came out beyond the upper one full and red. 

“ ‘ I sha’n’t go to church any more,’ he said. 

“ ‘ You are only a child,’ I repeated, as firmly as I could, 
though my silly lip would tremble, ‘and will do what you are 
bidden. I have given way to you too long, Louis. It was weak 
of me.’ 

“ ‘ But I sha’n’t,’ he said again. ‘ ’Tis all stuff and nonsense 
they tell us there about God. Did you ever see him, Mary? 
No, nor I, nor the man who wrote this book. If he were really 
God and Almighty, don’t you think he could show himself to 
us and make us sure? ’Tis easy enough to impose on a pack 
of old women and old maids like you, sister. But I’m too sharp 
to let ’em impose on me. I’m going to be a man, I am.’ 

“‘You are talking like a very naughty and silly boy when 
you say so,’ I answered, trying to keep my voice steady, and 
not to break out into tears he would only laugh at, ‘ but we will 
speak of that another time. You must come down-stairs with 
me now ; your brother wants you.’ 

“ ‘ My brother wants me,’ he repeated, all the tune gone out 
of his voice, and looking up at me with a glance of surprise and 
alarm. Then he lifted his crossed arms from the book, and 
closed it, and put it in a drawer. 

“ ‘ What does he want, sister V he said, quite in a different 
voice. ‘ Is he angry ?’ 


ttiROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


295 


“ ‘ I don’t know what he wants, my dear,’ I answered. ‘ But, 
remember this : you must not speak to him as you have been 
speaking to me. He has power over you, he can hurt you, pun- 
ish you, if he likes ; send you from home ; take away all your 
books. Remember that, and answer him humbly. Be submis- 
sive and obedient. If not for my sake, Louis, for your own.’ 

“ His fair face flushed a deep red as I said these words, 
my dears, and a shiver ran through all his body as if a cold, cold 
wind were blowing over him, and he drew closer to me, and 
whispered : ‘ I had a dreadful dream once, Mary, about my broth- 
er and about you. I thought he stood opposite me with a sword 
in his hand, and I knew he meant to kill me ; I saw the hate in 
his eyes. And he lifted the sword and struck with it; yet it 
was not I whom he killed ; it was you, sister — you, whom he did 
not want to kill. You fell upon the ground before us, and the 
sword had cut your heart in two.’ 

“ I could not help shuddering, my dears, thinking of my own 
dream, and of how it had been fulfllled. 

“ ‘ And I have dreamed it more than once, Mary,’ he said. 

“ Then he put his hand in mine as if he had been a little child 
again, and we went down the stairs and into the parlor at the 
back, where Charles was still sitting at his tea. 

“ ‘ What do you mean by keeping me waiting ?’ said he, in a 
sharp, sharp voice, to the boy, as we went into the room. ‘ My 
time is too important to be wasted at your pleasure. Next time 
I send for you, remember, you’ll come at once.’ 

“ ‘ ’Twas my fault, Charles,’ I said, pressing my boy’s hand to 
warn him, for the red color was fading out of his cheek, and his 
under lip pushed out, and his right foot flrmly set, and his bonny 
head thrown back a little between his shoulders. 

“ Oh, how plainly I can see the dingy parlor once more, and 
we three children of one father standing there together ! My 
father’s arm-chair, from which Charles had got up, was pushed 
back to its usual place beside the hearth ; where, for it was a 
chilly autumn evening, a small Are was still glimmering. The 
footstool on which Louise used to sit was on the other side of 
it. My father’s empty pipe still hung on its rusty nail by the 
fireplace. 

“ And on the table burned a candle. And beside it lay the 
dog’s-eared book of figures and a stump of pencil. 


29G 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ ‘ Mary,’ said my brother Charles, ‘ I am speaking to the boy. 
Let him answer.’ 

“ I gave Louis’s hand one squeeze again, and sat down, pray- 
ing God to keep them both from wrong. 

“ ‘ Do you hear me V asked Charles, in a stern voice, looking 
sideways at the boy. 

“ ‘ You need not speak so loud,’ answered Louis. I hear well.’ 

“ He spoke in a bold and saucy tone, my dears, which nearly 
made my heart stand still with fright. 

“ As I watched them, I was struck anew with the great differ- 
ence between them. Let me tell you how they looked. 

“Charles was about eight-and-thirty then, short and stout, 
and already rather bald. He looked sharp enough, but there 
was something in his blue-gray eyes you did not like to see. 
They seemed to warn you that he was determined to have his 
own way, no matter what pain he gave others. And yet some- 
thing better was there, too, that made him dissatisfied and un- 
easy with himself. 

“ And I was sorry for him, too. I knew he had suffered ter- 
ribly about Louise. I knew it had hardened him. If he could 
have learned to forgive, he would have been different. 

“ He was well dressed. Rather showily, but that was his 
taste. He always tried so hard to look like a gentleman. Poor 
Charles ! 

“ And my heart ached for him, as it does now and always will, 
my dears. For God meant him to be different. 

“ But, oh, my dears, what a change when I looked from him 
to the boy ! 

“ The very boys at school used to call him ‘ the little lord,’ 
and tease him till he forced them to drop it. He was more 
beautiful than a picture, and the clothes upon his bonny limbs 
took shapes that filled you with delight. His fair hair fell back 
in golden curls upon his shoulders, and his cheeks were red as 
roses ; while, as for his eyes, my dears, they were like a bit of 
heaven. 

“ And Charles stood looking at him, feeling the difference as 
much as I did. 

“ ‘ You hear well, do you ?’ said he, first clenching, then slowly 
unclenching, his big, heavy fist; ‘you will obey well, too, I 
hope, for your own sake. How old are you ?’ 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


297 


“ ‘ He is fourteen,’ I answered, in a flurry. 

“ ‘ Let him answer for himself, Mary,’ said my brother Charles. 
‘ How old are you, boy V 

“ ‘ My name is Louis,’ said my hoy, ‘ and my sister has already 
told you how old I am.’ 

‘ Now look you here,’ said Charles, going a step nearer to 
him, the veins swelling on his forehead and his fist clenched 
once more, ‘ look you here, sirrah ; if you answer me like that 
again I’ll — I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.’ 

“ For a moment, my dears, I saw a look in my hoy’s eyes 
which was a thousand times worse to see than that in the eyes 
of the elder. And then, perhaps in answer to my fervent prayer 
to God, his angry eye fell, and his fair cheek flushed a deep, 
deep crimson. 

“ ‘ Now you know what you’ve got to expect,’ continued 
Charles, drawing hack again, ‘and, as you are fourteen, ’tis 
time you were doing something to earn the bread you eat. I’ve 
got an office at the other end of London — at the West End ; 
you’ll like that, I dare say,’ he added, with a sneer ; ‘ and, as 
you can write, I suppose, you shall go there with me to-morrow, 
and save me a clerk.’ 

“ ‘ His schooling is paid to the end of the quarter,’ I said ; 
‘ let him go to school till then, Charles.’ 

“ ‘ To learn fresh airs,’ said my brother, with a harsh laugh ; 
‘no, ’tis high time his spurs were cut, Mary, and the conceit 
taken out of him. Have him ready to go with me to-morrow ; 
I’ll teach him from henceforth all he needs to learn.’ 

“ And then my brother Charles turned upon his heel and went 
away and left us. 

“ I went over to my boy, but he pushed me away, and threw 
himself upon the floor, putting his fingers into his ears when I 
tried to speak. 

“ So I had to leave him with God. 

“ The next day he came down ready dressed to go with his 
brother. 

“ And Charles said one evening, when we were alone : 

“ ‘ The boy’s sharp enough, if you don’t spoil him, Mary, and 
he has the sense to prefer a whole skin to a broken one.’ 

“ So I began to hope that things would go better than I feared. 

“But one day Louis came home from that West End office. 


29g 


Through love to life. 


where my brother seemed making such a lot of money, c6n- 
nected in some way with that dog’s-eared book of figures, and 
sat down before the fire, gazing into it with the same terrible 
look that I had seen once before. 

“ ‘ How is it you are home so early, my dear ?’ I asked ; ‘ are 
you ill V 

“ ‘ No,’ he answered, shortly. ‘ But I’ve had enough of being 
abused for everything that’s wrong, and sworn at twenty times 
a day. I’m never going back.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, Louis,’ I said, ‘ for my sake be patient, and don’t anger 
your brother. Soon you will be a man and can do as you like, 
but now he has power over you.’ 

“ ‘ If he lays his hand upon me,’ said my boy, ‘ I will kill 
him.’ 

“And his voice was low, but very, very clear and distinct, 
cutting the air like a knife. 

“ Before I had time to answer, Charles came in, and I knew 
the moment was come I had been dreading ever since my father 
died. 

“ For his face was trembling all over with anger and with ha- 
tred, and he held a leather belt in his hand and struck the air 
sharply with it close to my boy’s head. 

“ For the first time in his life I saw a look in Louis’s face 
which reminded me of his mother. It had turned quite white, 
and his eyes looked no longer blue, but of a deep black. 

“ ‘ Recall those words you spoke to me to-day,’ thundered 
Charles, ‘ and ask me to forgive you.’ 

“ ‘ I will not recall them,’ said my boy. 

“ ‘ Recall them instantly, or I’ll thrash you to within an inch 
of your life,’ said Charles again. 

“ But my boy only nose, crossing his arms over his chest, and 
stood facing him. 

“ Oh, my dears, I rushed between them and tried to hold back 
the raised right hand, but I was too late. 

“ For the cruel lash had fallen right across my boy’s face, 
leaving behind a broad line of burning red. 

“ Then I fainted, I suppose, for I knew nothing more until 
the next day, when they told me that my boy was gone. 

“ He had left behind him a scrap of paper with a few words 
on it for me. They were these : 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


290 


If I had stayed I should have killed him, Mary. Forget 
me, I shall never come back.’ 

“ And he never has, my dears. He took with him a por- 
trait of his mother, painted on ivory. And I heard, too, that 
he had taken money with him from the till, but I cannot be- 
lieve it. 

“ I was ill for many months after. When I began to go about, 
my brother Charles told me that he was going to be married to 
a great lady, the daughter of a baronet, and that he would settle 
on me a small annuity, so that I might live elsewhere. 

“ And I was glad to go, my dears. His business had pros- 
pered exceedingly at the West End, and he was very rich. And 
he was struggling still to become a gentleman. I should have 
been a drawback to him and a reproach, 

“ Yet once he sent for me. 

“ For his baby-boy was sick unto death, and he knew that I 
would love and care for the child. And I did, my Charley. 

‘‘ And had an exceeding great reward, for you loved me. 

Thus I became nurse, only nurse, in the great house. 

“ I have only one wish more. Ever since I lost him, I have 
prayed God to send me news of my boy. And somehow I think 
he will. Somehow lately I have felt a sweet assurance that he 
will. 

“ And now, my dears, this about my boy is what I wanted to 
tell you. Many a night I have lain awake, thinking I heard him 
calling to me for help. I have always believed that some day 
he would want me. Now I am old, but you are young. Per- 
haps you may yet be brought together. And you will accept 
my legacy and befriend him and his, I am sure. And I shall 
die in peace, knowing it.” 


300 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

MRS. OR MISS SMITH. 

“ Human Nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting 
situations that a young person who either marries or dies is sure of being 
kindly spoken of. — Jane Austen {Emma). 

As the gentle voice ceased, I rose, with an impulsive forward 
movement towards the dear speaker, and in another moment 
should have clasped my father’s sister to my heart. 

Aileen had known most of the story before, and, smiling 
through her tears, sat watching us. 

But the Countess had preceded me. And I drew back. For, 
with sudden illumination, I put the two stories together — the 
stories of the simple Englishwoman and the high-born lady — 
and understood. 

The glow upon the sweet, pale face of the lady was as bright 
now as the ruddy gleam of the firelight on the snow outside, 
her dilated blue eyes glistening under the influence of a su- 
preme emotion. 

Yet she paused still,, for the quickened breath was coming 
fast between her parted lips, holding back the words she would 
have uttered. 

Then she spoke ; the full tones of her flexible voice, with the 
distinct accentuation of the foreigner, dropping like the sound 
of a silver hammer upon a silver bell. 

“ You told us just now,” she said, gently stroking the rippling 
white hair, falling low over the placid forehead of my nurse, 
“ that you had never seen eyes like those of your lost boy, until 
you saw mine. Look again at my face, dearly loved and hon- 
ored friend, and tell me if any other feature there also reminds 
you of him. 

“ The mouth is not like his,” said my nurse, looking up with 
a new light, hardly of surprise, in her loving eyes, “ nor is the 
delicate chin. His lips were fuller ; the line where they met 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


301 


straigliter than yours. And his chin was squarer. Yet your 
mouth, and chin, too, I have seen in some other face — they are 
like—” 

She stopped, trembling. 

We all felt the presence of the new thought, as it darted, 
quick as lightning, into her brain. We all saw the solving of 
the problem which had puzzled us, although at first the solution 
seemed impossible. 

Then the countess withdrew the hand resting fondly on the 
silver hair, and placed it in her bosom. 

I was standing as I had risen, and while I looked, marvelling, 
the countess drew a locket, suspended round her neck by a 
chain, from its hiding-place, and gave it to my nurse. She 
opened it with a trembling hand. 

I moved a little, so that I might see too, and, leaning for- 
ward, let my eyes rest upon the portrait of a young girl, painted 
on ivory. 

And, as I looked, the dark eyes seemed to move, and flash, 
and laugh, and fill with burning, passionate tears. 

Then I knew it was the face of Louise. 

It could hardly have been the work of a great artist; even 
my unpractised eye discovered great crudeness and want of fin- 
ish in the execution. Yet the painter, either consciously or 
unconsciously to himself, had put life into the picture. As you 
gazed, not only the eyes, hut the dewy, pouting, softly parted 
lips, spoke too. And they seemed to say, at least I fancied so, 
what they had seemed to say many years before : “ Mary, you, 
too, shall be happy.” 

Words henceforth to be a sacred trust to us ! 

I wonder if I can describe the face, so as to make it plain to 
those who saw it not. 

The dusky, luxuriant hair was gathered, according to the fash- 
ion of those times, into a knot of curls on the top of the shapely 
little head, and fastened there with a golden comb over which 
a hundred little ringlets rippled. The hair was thickly pow- 
dered. The small oval face, which should have been left pale, 
as Nature made it, was brightened into fictitious and incongru- 
ous bloom by means of the rouge-pot. The features were irreg- 
ular and not at all critically beautiful — the line of the nose, 
with its delicately arched nostrils, anything but Grecian, the 


302 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


whole face too unfilled and sharp in outline. There was not the 
shadow of a dimple on it except where the forefinger of a tiny 
hand pressed the left cheek. 

I can say all this, but how can I describe the sensations which 
this unfinished face awakened ; how explain that this very want 
of art pleased more than the utmost finish would have done, and 
that the glorious eyes, shedding their wonderful light over all, 
threw defects into deepest shadow ? 

How can I describe, either, the effect of it upon my aunt ? 

But the countess sank upon her knees, throwing her arms 
around the trembling figure of the sweet woman who had been 
the guardian angel of us all, and drawing the dear head with its 
rippling silver covering to her warm young bosom, while warm 
tears fell upon it. 

“ He told me about you, dearest,” she said, “ and repented, I 
trust, the bitter wrong he had done you. Let me atone for his 
sin. From henceforth my life belongs to you.” 

We never told my aunt the details of the story of Louis 
I’Anglais. She knew that he had risen to great honor, and that 
he was dead. She knew, too, that she had got his daughter for 
her very own, and that this daughter was good as an angel. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

A DESERTED HOUSE. 

“ 0 Henry ! always striv’st thou to be great 
By thine own act — yet art thou never great 
But by the inspiration of great passion. 

The whirl-blast comes, the desert sands rise up 

And shape themselves : from earth to heaven they stand, 

As though they were the pillars of a temple. 

Built by Omnipotence in its own honor ! 

But the blast pauses, and the shaping spirit 
Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand, 

And lazy snakes trail o’er the level ruins !” — C oleridge. 

It is good for a man going to woo — good for him, and 
for his future happiness — that he should do it in fear. The 
Tvoman who gives herself away beforg sl^e is asked puts a rod 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


303 


into the hand of her future husband, which he would be more 
than human not to make occasional and sharp use of. It is good 
for her, too, therefore, to use the time of her supreme power 
well and wisely, teaching him the lesson he will learn so easily 
now, and rebel against so pugnaciously hereafter — the lesson of 
subjection. For love, if it is to teach anything, must teach that. 
Ay, to the man, too, assuredly, as well as to the woman. Con- 
tinual subjugation of a once paramount ego, continual offerings 
up on the altar of self-sacrifice, continual and glad bearing of 
pain to save the loved one, is the very life-blood, the very es- 
sence, of “ true love ” as opposed to “ passion.” Passion we 
have in common with the brutes ; love we have in common with 
God. 

And if ever a man went to woo filled to the brim with the 
passionate fear of rejection, it was I. Every mile I journeyed 
on the road to Switzerland seemed to add a new drop to the cup 
of my fear, until it poured over. What though Therese had, 
her own true self, told me that she loved me ! The very fact 
that she had done so unsolicited was absolute proof of her cer- 
tainty in the impossibility of a union. The words had been 
wrung from her agonized lips beside the death-bed of hope. 

And her father, honest William ; he, too, stood erect among 
the obstacles I conjured up — a very mountain of opposition. 
When his heart, casting aside the trammels of conventionality, 
had spoken burning words to mine, there had been no response, 
or, rather, only a false one. The real cries my heart had uttered 
had been inarticulate, smothered under the infernal hand of some 
Kimmon, before whose altar, like Naaman of old, I had still 
bowed down and worshipped ; choosing rather to wash and be 
clean in Abana and Pharpar than in the heavenly stream of 
Jordan. 

Even the elements, so I thought, were against me. Heavy 
snow blocked the passes, so that I had to fight my way to Brun- 
nen inch by inch. Yet my hopes rose somewhat when, mount- 
ing the little hill to Giitsch, I caught sight of the Schenke — 
almost marvelling to see it still standing — and began to realize 
that, in another few minutes, I should see, touch, feel the life- 
giving presence of my Therese. 

But there was no song issuing from the Schenke ; no pleasant 
murmur of human voices through the keen, snpw-impregnated 


304 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


air ; no human breath coming forth to warm and nourish me 
I looked aghast at the low, long wooden building, once so full 
of life, now horribly advanced in the first stage of dissolution. 
Stones had fallen from its roof and impeded my progress ; un- 
trodden snow lay thick around its deserted portal ; a loosened 
shutter, fiapping in the wind, fell against its side with a dull 
thud like earth upon a coflSn ; its uncurtained eyes were wide, 
but dimmed and sightless ; its door, like a dead mouth, w'hich 
will never smile again, hopelessly closed. I had opened my 
yearning arms to clasp a living being to my heart, and — oh, 
nightmare of horror ! — they enclosed a stiffened corpse. 

I went round the deserted building a dozen times ; burning 
hot -under the fiery touch of a passionate pain,- which rendered 
me insensible to the intense cold ; hoping ever that I was but 
the sport of a cruel optical delusion, too horrible to be true. I 
stilled the furious throbbing of my pulse to listen at its empty 
portal, to peer frantically into its sightless orbs. 

In vain, in vain ! No glad discovery lightened my hopeless- 
ness ; no sound was to be heard but the sullen lapping of the 
ice-bound lake below, the fierce, hungry cry of a passing bird of 
prey, and that dull thud upon the coffin wherein lay, heart to 
heart, my hope and love. 

Then I sat down upon the stone bench outside the window, 
and covered my face with my hands. 

I know not how long I sat thus alone with my despair, but 
after a long silence I heard a living thing beside me. And I 
lifted my aching eyes to see what it was. 

I knew it instantly, and thrust out indignant hands to ward 
it off. 

For I hated it, the elfish thing — the fruit of a man’s evil pas- 
sion and a woman’s dishonor. Again I heard the words of its 
horrible incantation : 

“ My mother bound a rod for you long ago. I mean to come 
and look on when she uses it, and listen to your cries, and laugh 
to think how little they will help you — for I hate you, I hate 
you.” 

Relentless prophecy ! relentless fulfilment ! The bound rod 
was in requisition now, forcing, even from my proud manhood, 
loud cries of agony ; and she was there — this thing in mortal 
mould, but surely never mortal — looking on. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


305 


The full cup of our pain runneth over — its last drop hitter as 
death — when we know that it is nectar to another ! 

“ Avaunt, Mieschen ! Avaunt, child of sin !” 

But she did not go ; on the contrary, she drew nearer, clam- 
bered to my knee, put her elfish arms about my neck, her fiery 
hair falling warm over my shoulder, laid her elfish head upon 
my breast. 

“ Does it hurt very much, Herre ?” she said. 

There was no exultation in her voice ; rather was it modulated 
into a weird, yet sweet, plaint of sympathy. And she clung 
closer to me, and put her pale lips up to mine. 

“ You are glad to know that it does, Mieschen ; you are come 
to enjoy it.” 

“ No, Herre ; no, no, no ! lam sorry. She shall not hurt you 
any more — my mother, the Wind — and I will find you some- 
thing to take away the smart.” 

“ You can tell me, perhaps — ” I began, eagerly. 

“ Where your enemy is ? — yes ! It will do you good to know 
that he is dead.” 

“ What enemy ?” 

“Have you forgotten so soon, Herre? You are not like me. 
I remember wrong forever. I never forget it.” 

“ Till it is avenged, I suppose ?” 

“ It never is avenged, Herre, till my enemy is dead. Why do 
you weep still ? Sei froh und guter Dingey 

“ I want something better than revenge, Mieschen ; something 
you cannot give me.” 

“ But revenge is very sweet, Herre ; sweeter far than honey- 
cakes. My grandmother has the rheumatism now, and cannot 
beat me. I am glad not to be beaten, but I am gladder still to 
hear her cry out and groan and moan.” 

“ You are a naughty girl, Mieschen. Get down from my knee. 
You deserve to be beaten.” 

“ I will get off in a minute, and take you to a stove, where 
you can warm yourself. Look down upon the lake, Herre ; you 
were nearly drowned in it once.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And he was quite drowned in it — quite. Drowned as dead 
as a stone. I looked on and saw him die, Herre, and did not 
care to help him, because of the beautiful lady and the good 
20 


306 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Frenchman — the only one who never spoke a hard word to me, 
except — ” 

“ Except who ?” 

“ I will tell you presently, Herre. Don’t cry, your tears hurt 
me. You must give me a kiss to take away the pain. What, 
you won’t? My mouth is not like hers, as sweet and soft and 
red as a ripe cherry. Never mind ! no kiss, no good news.” 

“ It is no good news to me that he is dead.” 

“ Not ? I do not understand that. The English are, indeed, 
a curious people, as all the world says they are. You cut as wry 
a face as if the news were medicine. Well, I will give you some 
honey to take away the taste, if you will give me a kiss.” 

“ I’ve no time to spare.” 

‘‘You are in a terrible hurry to go and look for somebody. 
But, Herre, if you go without a guide you will lose your way.” 

“ Can you guide me ?” 

“ I fancy so. And I knew that you would come back, though 
every one else said you wouldn’t. Even Peter’s Nick, who stood 
up for you at first, says now that, but for wife and child, he’d 
walk barefoot to England only to show you how he can handle 
a cudgel. Yesterday, when the news came from Lucerne — 
never mind what news — I heard him say, ‘ It will shorten mv 
life not to be able to give the liar the hiding he deserves.’ You’d 
better not go to the village, Herre ; Peter’s Nick won’t want to 
kiss you.” 

“ If I avoid the village, it will not be for fear of Peter’s Nick.” 

“ Wait, Herre, just a moment. It was in the night he came, 
the wicked prince, all alone in a boat, from Lucerne. Nobody 
saw him but me, for every one else was in bed and asleep. I 
grew tired of listening to my grandmother’s moans and laugh- 
ing at them, so I dressed myself and went down to the lake.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ It was calm as a pond, Herre, and looked as if it were dead. 
I was going home again, for it made me shiver, when I saw a 
boat gliding softly over the water.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ I was frightened, Herre, and hid myself, and the boatman 
came on so softly that I thought he must be only a dream. Then 
he lifted his face to the pale moon, and I saw that he was the 
wicked prince who had murdered the good Frenchman. His 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


307 


cheek was white as the ashes, Ilerre, which fall under the stove, 
and the rest of his body was as black as the altar-pall on Good 
Friday.” 

I began to listen intently, in spite of my anxiety about Therese. 

“ All the world slept, Herre, but him and me, and I was afraid 
of him, and slunk back in my hiding-place. My mother, the 
Wind, slept too, and the only ripple on the water was against 
the keel of his boat.” 

“ Quick, child, tell me all.” 

“ I am going to tell you, Herre. He got out and moored his 
boat — such a little one ! — to our pier. Then he stood still, look- 
ing round, his long cloak covering up all but his face, his lips 
moving. And he sighed, Herre, such a big sigh, and clasped 
his hands, and looked up to the sky with a face like Wieschen 
Kuhle’s when she died.” 

“ Quick, quick ; I am in a hurry, Mieschen.” 

“ So am I, Herre, for if I do not get home in time I shall be 
beaten. Fleurette lives with us now, and beats me when my 
grandmother cannot. He stood a long time like that, the wick- 
ed prince, till my teeth began to chatter, and then he turned 
his eyes, which looked like two burning coals, towards the vil- 
lage, and up the hill to Giitsch, and through the wood. 

“ And all of a sudden, while I was looking, he threw up his 
arms and cried out loud : ‘ Oh, my Kathchen, I did it all for 
love of thee ! Come back to me, or I shall die !’ ” 

The child — if she were a child and not an elfin changeling — 
put into these words a tone of such poignant anguish that my 
own pain was swallowed up in the intenser pain of another. 
Hot tears of compassion for one who had done me the most 
cruel wrong that one man can do his fellow dropped from my 
burning eyes on the fiery locks of the child. In the freema- 
sonry of suffering I forgot that we were mortal foes ; I only re- 
membered that he was a man, fashioned like unto myself. 

“ It was when he got up, Herre,” continued Mieschen, “ that 
he first saw me, and pulled me out from behind the stone, and 
shook me till my teeth chattered and I hardly knew whether I 
were alive or dead. 

“ ‘ Who sent thee here V he said. 

“ ‘ Nobody, gnddiger Herr' I sobbed, for his hands, though 
goft and white as yours, Herre, gripped me till I could hardly 


308 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


help screaming out with the pain ; ‘ and if my grandmother 
knew I had gone out without leave she would only beat me.’ 

“ ‘ Beat thee. Tausendsacrament I I’ve a great mind to beat 
thee in her stead — his dein Zunglein auf ewig verlernt hat Ge- 
heimnisse zu verrathen. If I thought thou wast a spy, I’d twist 
thy tongue out of thy mouth, strangle thee with these red locks 
of thine, and throw thee into the lake.’ 

I could not speak for trembling, Herre, and was afraid to 
move or cry, with his great eyes upon me. And I could not 
turn them away, either ; it was like as if he had fastened them 
to his. And oh ! I wished I had been good and stayed at home 
with my grandmother, for I thought he was going to kill me as 
he killed the good Frenchman. 

“ ‘ Speak,’ he said ; ‘ sprich, rothhaarige Teufelin.' 

“ ‘ I’m not a spy, gnadiger Herr^ I answered, ‘ nor a devil 
either ; only little Mieschen, who never had a father like the 
others ; and my mother is the Wind, and people say I am mad.’ 

“ ‘ They say I am mad, too, child,’ he answered ; ‘ but it is a 
cursed lie. They tried to keep me from coming back, but I 
outwitted them. Tell me, is there a lady in the village, beauti- 
ful as an angel ?’ 

“ ‘ There is Therese,’ I said. 

“ He raised his hand to strike me, Herre ; but let it fall again 
and was silent. 

“ ‘ I mean a stranger,’ he said, after a while. 

“ ‘ There was, gnadiger Herr ; but she is gone away with the 
Englishman.’ 

For a moment, Herre, I really thought he was going to kill 
me, and I shut my eyes and screamed as loud as I could. 

“But he only pushed me from him, so that I fell and hurt 
myself. 

“ ‘ Look,’ he said. ‘ I am going to tie thee fast, and if thou 
screamest again, I will beat thee to death. Be sure of that ; 
what I say, I do, always. I am Prince Eberhard of Pobeldow- 
ski, and men go softly in my presence, and thank me for gra- 
cious punishment. I was born to be a ruler : my mother said 
so. Listen, child, she — she said it first, and he was strong and 
brave and good, and hatred glanced off from him — he would 
not die. I beat a dog to death once — a dog white as snow, red 
as blood — and I loved it, but I hated him more. He sent me 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


309 


back a collar in a bloody liandkercliief, and witli words of fire. 
Oh, I knew that every blow fell upon his heart ! Whist ! lie 
down, Donna — kusch dich, Unthier ! thou art dead. The 
Frenchman is dead too. The bullet pierced him. I saw him 
fall and die, and Fear I never knew before rose up from his 
wound and chased me through the wood and down the hill- 
side, making me forget even her. It has chased me ever since 
— the grisly monster ! it is coming over the water now — dost 
see it? — pale, as ashes red with the blood of many. Down, 
Donna, down, I tell thee ! It is my child, sayest thou ? — has 
my eye, my lip, my brow ? It is false ; it is Desperation, the 
unhallowed offspring of Memory, and it is dead, cold and dead 
in a quiet pool ; and the Englishman shall die. Brother, it was 
an accident — all the world said it was an accident, and she — she 
said so too. Thou wast buried as befitted a prince, and we put 
on mourning for thee and would not be comforted. Kusch dich^ 
Donna. Down, I tell thee, Satanshund P 

“ Did he say all that, Mieschen ?” I inquired, shuddering. 

“ Every word, Herre ; I never forget. And he said more, too, 
oh, much more, but it was in a tongue I could not understand ! 
But when he had bound me to the pier, he turned to go to the 
wood, and then he cried out again in our language : ‘ I am com- 
ing for thee, Kathe : I know where I laid thee, Schdtzchen. All 
the way from Hungary I come, where they wanted to keep me. 
They bound me — their prince — with cords ! They threatened me 
with a whip ! They said I was mad, but I was wiser than they. 
I broke loose from them and found my way back to thee !’ ” 

“ What happened next, Mieschen ?” I cried, with burning im- 
patience. 

“ He had strapped me round the waist to the pier, Herre, 
and, though my arms were free, the knot was tight, and I 
couldn’t loosen it. And the night was bitter cold, and only a 
few stars gave a dim light, for the young moon grew tired of 
shining and went to bed again. I dared not scream, either, for 
I knew if I did he would keep his word and beat me to death, 
and my mother, the Wind, slept on, and the quiet water dared 
not move for fear of her, and nobody cared for poor little Mies- 
chen, or whether she lived or died.” 

Did he come back again ?” 

^‘Yes, Herre, but he was gone a long, long time, and the 


310 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


Morgenstern was shining when I heard his footfall ; and a pale 
gleam of light fell down on Uri Rothstock, and I knew it would 
soon be day. But I was stiff with cold, and hardly minded his 
cruel threats any more, for beating, even if it hurt, would also 
warm me. I had unmoored his boat — I could just reach it, and 
it had floated a little back from the pier, but not far ; there was 
neither wind nor wave to drive it.” 

“ Did he speak to you ?” 

“ No, Herre, not a word. I think he had forgotten that I was 
there. But though now the red morning light fell full upon his 
face, it still looked white as ashes ; and oh, how he trembled 
and shook ! Then he sighed, as I never heard any one sigh be- 
fore, and sprang for the boat, which had gone back from the 
pier a good boat’s length.” 

“ And missed ?” 

“ No, Herre ; the boat shook under his weight, but he soon 
righted her, and would have got away safely only that an oar 
slipped from his frozen Angers, and in trying to reach it he cap- 
sized the boat and fell into the water.” 

“ And was drowned ?” 

“ Not yet, Herre. He could swim ; and in a few minutes he 
had righted the boat again, and was getting into her, when he 
seemed to see something inside which frightened him so much 
that he let her loose again, and cried out, like a madman, 

‘ Kusch dich, Donna /’ and, ‘ Thou, too, my enemy ? thou also 
come back from hell ?’ Then he covered his face and sank, and 
I saw him no more ; but I saw something else, Herre.” 

“What?” 

“Something white in the boat, and some one holding it. 
Two shadowy figures, like a dog and a man. And they looked 
fierce and threatening ; yet while I watched them, dumb with 
fear, they melted into air. Don’t be angry with me, Herre ; I 
cannot help it. I see strange things sometimes, and when I tell 
others of them they say I am mad.” 

“ Strange, unearthly creature, tell me the rest.” 

“There is not much more to tell, Herre. When the boat, 
empty again, floated towards me, the terrible hand upon my 
mouth was taken off, and I cried out, and cried again until all 
the mountains gave back the echo. But our men — Peter’s Nick 
and the brave Englishman from Giitsch — came too late to save 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


311 


him, though they tried hard. Yet, if they had saved him, they 
would only have given him up to the gendarmes at Lucerne. 
As for me, I cannot forget that awful look upon his face when 
he saw the shadows of the man and the white dog, and gave up 
the struggle.” 

I was silent. The child was silent too, and clung to me, trem- 
bling, and hid her elfish head upon my breast. 

“ Did they ever find the body, Mieschen ?” 

“ Our lake would not keep it, Herre. Our lake cast it out of 
her mouth. About a week afterwards they found it floating 
against the pier, and a great Herr came all the way from Hun- 
gary to fetch it, and to carry it away.” 

“ And were you beaten, Mieschen ?” 

“No, Herre ; my grandmother forgot, and Fleurette, too, to 
beat me that day.” 

“ And now, Mieschen, take me to Th^rese.” 

“ I will take you to my grandmother’s, and you shall warm 
your hands, which are cold as ice, and I will warm mine, for 
they, too, are as cold almost as they were that dreadful night.” 

“ No, Mieschen ; first tell me — ” 

“ Where she is, and how she is, Herre ? Well, she is alive 
and well, but you cannot go to her to-day.” 

“Why, Mieschen?” 

“ Because she is at Lucerne.” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE SISTER EVELINE. 

“Wiisst ni’t anzufange’ 

Bin zum Herrn Gott gange’ 

‘Darf ich Dierndel liebe’ ?’ hab’ ich g’fragt; 

‘ Ei, jo freili’, ’sagt er, und hat g’lacht ; 

Wegen’s Biierbel hab, ich’s Dierndel g’macht.’ ” 

Unfortunate Mieschen! Child sent, apparently, into the 
world only to furnish it with a sentient body for the raised 
stick of Retribution, which must fall somewhere. Now I could 
have beaten thee myself. 

Yet what mattered it that an imp hung upon my coat-tails, 


312 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


that my weary feet were full of pins and needles, that I had to 
retraverse the snow-covered road by which I had come to Brun- 
nen, that my hopes were indefinitely deferred ? My greatest 
dread had been baseless. Thereschen was at Lucerne ! 

On our way to the village we met Peter’s Nick. 

He came on slowly, the deep frown upon his low forehead 
resting so heavily upon his eyes as to elongate them beyond 
precedence. His lips, too, were compressed almost into a line, 
and in his right hand he swung a cudgel strong enough to have 
prostrated a Goliath. He came on steadily, his narrowed eyes 
■ — directed straight towards mine from under the pent-house of 
a brow which meant satisfactory explanation or condign punish- 
ment — saying, plainer than any spoken words, “Thou art the 
man.” 

Truly, but for a conscience at peace with God, I might have 
fled in dismay before Peter’s Nick. 

“ Outm Tag, Nick,” I said, trying to induce my blue lips to 
smile reassurance, and pushing away little Mieschen, who flung 
her wizened arms around me. “ How are you, old fellow ?” 

“ They told me you were here, Herre,” he answered, without 
returning my greeting, and now so close to me that I could feel 
his hot breath on my cold cheek. “ The landlord at the ‘ Golden 
Lion ’ said so himself. And I went home and fetched this Pru- 
gel ” (looking at his formidable weapon), “ and came out to have 
a bit of talk with you, auf Deutsch, HerreP 

“ Is that the German way, Nick, of welcoming a friend ?” 

“ No, Herre. It is the German way of giving liars and them that 
make false promises a taste of the fire that never shall be quenched. 
It is the German way of welcoming a Hundsfott — a blackguard.” 

“ Take care what you say, Nick ; take care !” 

“lam going to take care, Herre. I am going to find out why 
you went away without keeping your word, and why you’ve 
come back again ; and if you can’t give me a good reason for 
both I’m going to thrash you like a dog. Mieschen, geh nach 
Hause ; the supper waits for thee, and the Grossmutter also. I 
have a word to speak to the Englander P 

“ I will not go,” she sobbed ; “ I will not let you hurt him. 
He is good.” 

“ Nick,” I said again, almost imploringly, putting back the 
thin arms of the child as gently as I could, but in a decisive 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


313 


manner, which checked both her sobs and her struggles ; “ Nick, 
let me speak first, and then, if you think I deserve it, I will stand 
as still as Uri Rothstock to receive any chastisement you choose 
to inflict.” 

“ Herre,” he replied, angrily, throwing down his cudgel, “ you 
disarmed me once with a blow, and now with a word, or, rather, 
with a look in your eyes which, if it be false, is falser than the 
devil himself, and might even deceive the Holy Mother of God. 
Tell me why you are come, and why you went — in silence.” 

“ I am come, Nick, to rob Switzerland of its brightest jewel 
and take it back to England.” 

“ And a cudgel is good for a thief,” he replied, his compressed 
lips and eyes arching themselves a little. 

“ True, and you shall use it as freely as you like on the thief’s 
back, if you like, when I have spoken.” 

“Well, Herre, now why did you go — schweigend P"* 

“ Because I have a father, Nick.” 

“ And you went to fetch a Jawort ; I understand now. But, 
Herre, you never told us that. You left us to wear away our 
hearts in doubt and ignorance.” 

He spoke half reproachfully, yet advanced to shake my hand. 

“ She is at Lucerne,” he said, “ and we will go there together 
this day.” 

We did go. We fought our way back there inch by inch. 
Had the snow been deeper, the wind fiercer, the heaven blacker, 
we should have reached it still. 

I, also, understood now. I no longer asked myself the ques- 
tion as to “ whether the fellow had dared — ?” With a contrite 
heart I did homage to the loftiness of a love based on entire 
self-renunciation, and accepting gratefully in return, unconscious 
of its supreme humility, a few crumbs of common kindness, a 
bright smile or two, the remembrance of a childish kiss. He, 
not I, had bared his own brave and tender heart for her to mount 
to happiness. 

It was long past midnight when we reached Lucerne. 

The pallid winter-morning sun was shining upon the drifted 
snow when Nick roused me from a sleep of profound exhaus- 
tion, deep as that of Eutychus. 

I asked no question, and Nick proffered no explanation, as 


314 


TflROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


he led me into a narrow street, where the manes of twenty gen- 
erations seemed to rise from moss-covered stones to protest 
against our purpose. 

For this spot was sacred to those who have forsworn marriage. 

Here, for many a hundred years, holy men, or such as claimed 
the adjective, had walked and lived and persecuted and suffered, 
each in turn passing away forever. 

Here, for many a hundred years, dark eyes, full of the lust 
of power, had looked askance from under cowls at a kneeling 
multitude. 

Here still, as in days of yore, men housed and prayed who 
had abjured the love of woman for the love of God ; and women 
abandoned a natural destiny to become the brides of Christ. 

And it was here that I came to seek a wife. 

The houses we passed were all of massive stone, ornamented 
with images, some roughly hewn, some out of whose petrified 
eyes a living soul still flashed upon you. Carved upon the portal 
where we halted was a female face upraised and full of so vivid 
an expression that the cold stone seemed to become incarnate 
as you gazed. The innocent eyes were wide, the lips smiling. 

Ay, smiling still, although they had been petrified long before 
the artist had hewn them in stone. The face had been raised 
in childish light-hearted ness to hear or see something too terri- 
ble to allow the features to relax — something which had stiff- 
ened into eternal life a ghastly death, leaving a murdered smile 
upon the lips forever. 

Beyond this portal an iron door slowly opened to our request 
to be allowed to enter. A woman was the portress. She was 
clothed in sombre black from head to foot. Her passionless 
face was indicative of nothing now but submission ; her eye sul- 
len, like that of an animal once fierce and furious, but long since 
reduced to crouching and licking obedience. I have seen faces 
like hers — always female ones, but not always in the garb of 
nuns — in the streets of many a Continental city, ay, and on the 
pavements of free London, half-and-half saints, if unwilling mar- 
tyrdom constitute a claim to holiness ; subdued under an iron 
heel, but only after having learned the futility of rebellion ; kiss- 
ing the rod, because fearing it so intensely. 

Her bloodless lips moved. We stooped to listen. 

“ Was ist euer Begehr 


THKOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


315 


“ We would humbly crave permission to speak a word to the 
sainted mother,” said my spokesman. 

Without another word (how many unspoken words mu^t have 
risen to those pale lips, to die there hopeless captives !) the 
woman led us along a narrow stone passage, terminating in a 
small circular room, from which a rough stone staircase, worn 
by thousands of dead feet, wound itself up into dark and mys- 
terious regions above. The only thing in this room was a gi- 
gantic crucifix, upon which the Son of God still hung and suf- 
fered and thirsted for water, which no man gave unto him. 

The door closed upon us. I fancied I heard the lock slip into 
its place with a sound like a secret spring. I felt a vague terror, 
as if I were myself a prisoner. I looked aghast at Nick, who 
reverently crossed himself and then stood with bowed head as 
in a sanctuary. 

We waited long. No sound broke the terrible silence, which, 
shared with that divine sufferer on the accursed tree, seemed 
eternal. I hardly breathed, I know, and Nick stood like an im- 
age of stone. 

Then the door was opened gently again, and another black- 
robed figure slowly entered and stood before us, at sight of 
whom both Nick and I fell upon reverential knees to do invol- 
untary obeisance. 

I am no Roman Catholic, nor have I any leaning to the faith 
of the Papists. I believe its distinguishing tenets to contain 
supreme errors; I believe its teaching calculated to destroy the 
free life of true religion, comprehensible alike to the sage and 
to the babe ; but I knew that in this woman I saw a saint. I 
was certain that the dark eyes, looking fearlessly and candidly 
and lovingly upon us, knew nothing of deceit or hypocrisy. 
Love to God and man sat enthroned in each ; love made perfect 
through suffering, and flooding the pale face with divinest sun- 
light. 

“ Gnadige Frau,'' said Nick (I know not whether the form of 
address was conventional, and I am sure he did not — he only 
used, as I should have done, the highest form he was cognizant 
of ) — Gnadige Frau, we want — der Englische Milord und ich - — 
we want your gracious permission to see and speak with a maid- 
en from Brunnen, who came to claim your protection about a 
month ago.” 


316 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“You mean the one we call Sister Eveline?” 

The voice was as low as the gentle murmur of a clear brook 
in the serene silence of a summer’s eve, as full of mystical, un- 
spoken communication, and as sweetly sorrowful. 

“ I mean the Sister Eveline.” 

The lady before us — emphatically a lady, whether by earthly 
noble birthright, or by the patent of God — was silent for a mo- 
ment, and looked searchingly at me. Nick continued — oh, how 
slowly — how slowly ! 

“ Gnadige Frau^ it is good to give one’s self to the service of 
God, yet sometimes — tell us, has she already taken the vow ?” 

Again a few seconds of palpitating silence. I knew — I knew, 
that my destiny — my life — my existence — hung upon this lady’s 
lips. And my heart broke out into those words of Israel’s — 
words of submission wrung out of him at the acme of desola- 
tion : “ If I am bereaved, I am bereaved.” 

“ She was to have taken the vow of the novitiate this morn- 
ing ; but, for certain reasons, it was deferred until to-morrow.” 

“ Nun lohet alle Gott said Nick, fervently, breaking out into 
the gladdest paean he knew of. 

As for me, I only laughed. And let those who do not under- 
stand marvel at my levity. 

“ Will you let us see her, gnadige Frau continued Nick, 
my indefatigable mouthpiece. 

“ She has gone to visit a sick child — I fear a dying one,” said 
the Lady Superior ; “ we like them to enter early on the blessed 
work. But you may go and meet her ; she is in the Godehardi- 
Strasse, in the house of one Josef Aufdermauer.” 

“ I know him,” cried Nick, now as eager as I. 

We were passing out again, after another reverent salute, 
when a soft hand was laid upon my arm, and soft, dark eyes 
looked anew searchingly into mine. 

“You are going to rob us of one of our most promising nov- 
ices,” said the Lady Superior, in that thrilling, heart-searching 
voice of hers ; “ and, monsieur, I would give her to you with all 
my soul, but I fear you are a heretic.” 

“ I am a Protestant,” I answered. 

Nick had already crossed the threshold, but her soft hand was 
still upon my arm — stronger in its power of detention than any 
man’s would have been. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


317 


“ And you will try to seduce her from the true faith ?” 

“ I shall try to lead her into it, meine Gnadige ; though, if we 
get to heaven, what matter how, or by what road ?” 

“ Go,” she said, heaving a deep sigh ; then quickly added : “ I 
had a friend like you, once, oh, just like you, when you boldly 
announced yourself a Protestant, and that you would try to lead 
her to your own faith ! and I renounced him for God.” 

“ And never regretted it, gnadige Frau 

“ Go. Your eyes are just like his, bold and blue and fearless, 
and yet luminous and tender when we spoke of her. And she 
will yield to them and let you rule her. I have no power to 
hold her. I ought to wish I had ; dessenungeachtet — ” 

“ You sigh, and your eyes are wistful, gnadige Frau. If you 
had to choose again — ” 

“ I would choose as I have chosen. What are regrets, what 
are vain earthly aspirations, compared to the approbation of 
God ? I am happy. I am beloved ; and my Eternal Bridegroom 
sitteth on the right hand of the Father.” 

Her upturned face, her wide eyes, her pure mouth, were all 
smiling — like the stone ones outside. 1 shall never see her 
again, except, maybe, in heaven, but I see that look often. I 
see it now as plain as ever, and am filled anew with marvelling 
pity, with undying indignation. Yet, if we get to heaven, shall 
we think it worth a thought, whether the road there was covered 
with verdant moss, or rough with stones which drew blood at 
every footstep ? Is not happiness sublimer when it has been 
purchased with pain ? 


318 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


CHAPTER XL VII. 

A MOMENTOUS QUESTION. 

“ In my far country there’s a sweet belief, 

The gods first fashioned double every soul, 

And then divided ; from that time till now, 

One half must ever seek its other half. 

Through land and sea, and if the search be blessed 
They join again, the parted souls, and live 
Henceforth as one.” 

Translated from Grillparzer {Das goldene Vliess). 

“ And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.” 

Tennyson. 

I SAW her first (Peter’s Nick says he did, but it is false), the 
darling! without whom my life would have been a complete 
failure — a mutilated and useless half. 

I saw her first ; warned by the rapid beating of my heart that 
she was coming — her pretty feet choosing out, in unconscious 
daintiness, the cleanest places in the dirty street ; her head 
drooping a little ; her sweet mouth sorrowfully firm ; her dark 
eyes solemn still at the remembrance of the dead boy upon 
whom they had last rested. 

And I looked at her, all my heart in my eyes, until at last she 
raised her drooping lids, and sent forth one of her soft, myste- 
rious, ever-changing glances, to meet mine. 

We were alone, for Peter’s Nick had discreetly vanished into 
space. 

And so we stood and gazed at each other. 

She was changed. Oh, my heart smote me at sight of her 
pallor ! And her wonderful eyes looked as if they had wept 
much since we parted. 

But never before had I seen her look half so beautiful. 

“ Therese,” I said. 

The hot color rushed to her face at the sound of my voipe. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


319 


Her whole body trembled. Instinctively she put her hand be- 
fore her face. 

“ Therese,” I said again, and my voice was choked and tone- 
less. “ Therese, speak to me.” 

But she could not, she could not. The color which had suf- 
fused her face was rapidly disappearing again, and her limbs 
shook under her. She put out her hand as if to repulse me. 

As if to repulse me ! Well, did I not deserve it? 

I went a little nearer. I took her cold hand. 

“ Therese. Are you so sorry to see me ?” 

“ Monsieur, is it really you ?” she gasped. 

“ Do I look like a ghost, Therese ?” 

“ No, but — ” 

“ But what ?” 

“ But—” 

Even her lips were white now, white as death. Yet she 
struggled still, with passionate determination, to regain her com- 
posure. 

“ I did not think — ” 

She could not finish the sentence, but she withdrew her hand 
— the hand which had touched mine so coldly and nervelessly — 
and leaned heavily against a wall. 

I protest that I wanted to save her pain, but I had no power 
even to tell her why I had come. I had no power. I had dis- 
dained her love when I might have had it. How could I ask 
for it now ? And the pain at my heart sickened me. It was 
evident that she was not only startled and terrified, but also full 
of indignation. 

I thought she would have fallen, but her high spirit struggled 
against the humiliation of that, and struggled successfully. And 
very soon she put her resolute little foot upon the neck of her 
passionate pain, and her lip was bleeding from the cruel curb of 
the pitiless white teeth. 

“ Monsieur,” she said, with dignified hauteur, “ if you will 
fetch me a fiacre I will thank you. I have been nursing a sick 
child, who died just now. The remembrance of it makes me — 
I am not — not — well. I fear I — Lieher Gott^ how can you stand 
there looking at me like that, when you know — ” 

She broke off again, profoundly agitated. And now hot tears 
were oozing through the fingers pressed convulsively to her face. 


320 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“ Oh, mein Vater^'' she sobbed, “ mein Vater^ come back to 
me ? I cannot bear it !” 

I could not bear it either. For now Therese laughed — that 
kind of laugh siffle which sounds like the rending of tightened 
heart-strings. I sprang forward. I clasped her to my heart. 

“ Go,” she said, vehemently, wrenching herself from my em- 
brace. “ Go back to her.” 

I began to understand. 

“ How dare you — you, whose faith belongs to another — how 
dare you venture to touch me ! I had begun to learn resigna- 
tion. I had begun to find peace in the convent — 

“ And now,” she continued, almost fiercely, you come hack 
to undo all, and I have no strength to go through it again. Gott 
sei mir gnddig ! I must die.” 

“ Oh, Therese, let me speak !” 

“ Speak ? What have you to say to Therese now ? Are we 
not separated forever ? Would I have written to you, if I had 
thought — oh, the — shame of it is killing me !” 

“ Therese, Therese, I love you.” 

She flashed round upon me. If I had had one ignoble thought 
that moment, the fire of her hot contempt would have scorched 
me to death. 

She had drawn hack a few paces. Her very wrath gave her 
fresh strength. She stood looking at me, and her eyes were as 
the eyes of an omniscient judge. 

If I had had one contemptible or ignoble thought at that mo- 
ment, I must have fled. But, though my heart seemed literally 
breaking, I kept my ground, and met her angry, burning gaze as 
steadily as I could. And then I saw her eyes softening and fill- 
ing, and a faint ray of hope entered into my soul. 

“ Where is she ?” she asked ; “ are you tired of her already ?” 

“ Therese, as truthfully as if we were both before the judg- 
ment seat, I never loved her, nor she me.” 

She did not move, but her eyes softened more and more. 
And a radiant light began to shine through them. 

“Yet you thought — ” 

“ Yes, I thought, Therese. I had not learned then what true 
love meant. I know now.” 

The radiant light in her eyes deepened and brightened. 

“ Oh, monsieur, if you only knew — ” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


321 


“ I know this, Therese, that it depends on you to-day to make 
me blessed beyond words to express, or to send me back to 
England a broken-hearted man.” 

“ Are you quite sure, monsieur, that you really love me — that 
it is not pity ?” 

“ Therese, did you ever love any one ?” 

‘‘ Oh, monsieur !” And now her face was crimson. 

“ Will you come home with me, Therese ? Will you make 
a home for me ? Without you I shall be everlastingly home- 
less.” 

Did you come back to Switzerland for that, monsieur — only 
for that ?” 

“ Only for that.” And now I opened my arms. 

“ Therese, will you come ?” 

And she caine. 

After all that had stood between us, she was mine at last — 
mine for evermore. 

What more did we say to each other ? Upon my life I can- 
not tell you, though we remained together for hours. I have 
asked Therese, and she declares, laughing a little and blushing 
a good deal, that she too has forgotten. 

Yet she knows perfectly well every word her other lovers saidu 
and remembers literally all the compliments they paid her. The 
Herr Lehrer talked like a book ; and Hans sank down upon his 
two knees at once, but then he was a poet, and, sooth to say, 
somewhat of a Gimpel, and had to be pulled up again rather 
ignominiously. 

“Ay, I’ll be bound you made the poor fellow smart. The 
Hwice blessed attribute of mercy’ is unknown to women.” 

Well, who could help laughing ? But she hadn’t laughed at 
the gallant officer. That was a performance to gaze at in speech- 
less admiration. “ Look, monsieur, it is never too late to learn.” 

And Therese sinks gracefully upon one knee, with ludicrous 
care for an imaginary and very tight uniform, and clasps two 
little hands, and lifts a woe-begone countenance; the pathos 
thereof turned into bathos by the twinkle in her mischievous 
eyes. 

“ Good gracious ! I thank my stars that you’ve forgotten 
my performances. Is that the barbarous way in which yoi, 
21 


322 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


heartless women show up to a mocking world the sorrows of 
rejected lovers ?” 

“ ‘ Show up,’ monsieur ? Only to my Mann^ and only for his 
instruction. Oh, me ! when I come to reflect, I can’t imagine 
how I ever could have been so foolish as to give him a No. 
Besides his elegance and his uniform — he was Uhlan — he had 
a Schloss in Mark Brandenburg and a von before his name ! 
Ach ! I should have been a gnadige Frau F 

“ Instead of the hard-worked wife of a poor foreign corre- 
spondent in dismal London. I appreciate your regret, Therese, 
but can only offer the additional aggravation that it was your 
own fault.” 

“ Exactly, monsieur, and therefore I bear it with as much pa- 
tience as I can.” 

After which, she comes penitently to kiss away the shadow 
on my brow — for the life of me I cannot help it ! I know, I 
know it is all fun and nonsense, yet the bare idea, that the 
confinement of her present life may sometimes weigh upon my 
treasure, reared in the freedom of the Swiss mountains, is some- 
thing so like pain as to be hardly distinguishable from that sen- 
sation. And this occasional phantom of a fear, with absolutely 
nothing substantial behind it — I am certain of that — is the one 
mote in my sunshine, the one bitter drop in a cup of almost 
heavenly sweetness. Outside troubles we have too, of course, 
but those we share together, and, in sharing, hardly feel, or only 
as a bit of extra labor, making the after-rest the sweeter. 

But I, too, sometimes have my innings. I tell Therese that 
though I, with her, have completely forgotten most of what we 
said, I remember perfectly that it was she who rushed into my 
arms, and that it was she who first gave me the familiar du — I 
know I shouldn’t have dared. 

“ Monsieur, you deserve — I don’t know what, for saying so.” 

“ Nevertheless I am convinced that those words I still hear 
in my dreams were actually uttered. I eouldn’t have imagined 
them, and it is hardly likely that another damsel in the neigh- 
borhood would have been laboring under the same monomania 
a^ the same moment, and given utterance to it in the same thrill- 
ing tones.” 

I dare say I asked you to remember that we were in the open 
ptreetj ai^d that people would stare at us,’’ 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


323 


^‘Perhaps you did. I remember finding myself with you un- 
der a discreet porch, and you were kissing — ” 

“ I’ll never, never kiss you again, if you say so.” 

“Won’t you? I rather think you will. You once vowed 
never to speak to me again ; but, dear me ! you were in a tre- 
mendous hurry to break your vow.” 

“ You’ll be telling me next that I asked you to marry me.” 

“I think you did, or something uncommonly like it. For 
what’s an honorable fellow to do when a girl rushes into his 
arms and hangs about his neck and says — ” 

“ Finish, finish now ! Fill up the measure of your iniquity.” 

“ — ‘ Ich Kobe dich so lieb, so lieb^ for I’ll take my oath I heard 
those words that day, and they transported me into — ” 

“ Into a hiding-place under a neighboring porch. I should 
hope they did. Oh, is there no law in this hard, gray, gloomy, 
cruel, heartless England to protect wives against unheard-of 
insults from their husbands?” 

“ My dear, the inimitable laws of this country were made to 
protect the strong against the weak — made, in a word, by hus- 
bands for husbands.” 

Somehow we never get much beyond this point. Somehow 
Therese forgets to scold, and I forget to banter. We cling to- 
gether as we clung under the friendly protecting porch, and the 
words “ Ich habe dich so lieb^ so lieb," are heard again in cho- 
rus, in a man’s deep bass and a woman’s thrilling contralto. 
Who began it we don’t know and we don’t care. Perhaps an 
angel struck the chord, which once divinely touched can never 
cease vibrating. 

But I am anticipating, and must now explain how it was that 
my Therese had sought refuge in a convent. 

Honest William was dead. Very soon after my departure 
another “ mad Englishman ” had come to Giitsch. Like my 
former self, he, too, had discovered the vanity of everything else 
on earth, and now sought a new interest, by risking his life to 
view winter effects from the summits of ice-bound mountains. 

And this new Englander proved his indomitable British pluck 
by precipitating himself (accidentally, it was believed) into a 
crevice a thousand feet below the glacier of Uri Rothstock. 

He was rescued from his icj^ coffin by a few brave Swiss anrl 


324 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


one noble fellow-countryman, who thought nothing of pluck, 
but all the world of duty, whether it led to life or to death. 

“ His little bit of a sore throat, Herre,” said Peter’s Nick — 
who told me the sad story — “ caught from the exposure, seemed 
nothing at first, and we wondered at the dreadful look which 
came into his daughter’s eyes. But it was burning fever in the 
morning. I was with him when he died, two days afterwards, 
and Mademoiselle Therese was there too, and the doctor.” 

“Did he express any wish concerning her, Nick? Did he 
speak of me?” 

“ Listen, Herre, I am going to tell you. She had not slept since 
he was taken ill, nor eaten, I verily believe, one morsel. She 
stood beside him, looking more like death than he did, until he 
opened his eyes, and they were bright, and he seemed to know us. 

u i JiQYf Doctor,' said Therese, speaking in a quick, low voice 
which almost broke my heart, because there was hope in it, ‘ he 
sees me ; he knows me ; he will live.’ 

“ But the doctor only sighed and shook his head. 

“ Then our master spoke : 

“ ‘ Art thou here, little daughter ? Dear heart, God is also 
here and will bless thee.’ 

“ And then, Herre, he closed his eyes again, and we hardly 
knew the minute when he died. And, though no priest oiled 
him, I know he went to heaven.” 

I saw the two graves afterwards ; his and that of the English- 
man, whose pluck (the Swiss call it spleen) caused a good man’s 
death. 

The one is marked by a stately marble monument ; the other 
is only a modest mound, under which a woman’s remains, once 
dearly loved, also lie. At its head is a simple cross of gray 
stone, whereon is engraved a plain English name and the words, 
“ By their fruits ye shall know them.” Bright blue Mdnnertreu 
smiles up at the gazer from the mound in the spring ; and all 
through the long summer days and short-lived summer nights 
a white rose, growing luxuriantly, fills the neighboring air with 
perfume. 

But I never saw any ecstatic Englishmen standing here, as I 
have seen them by the other. 

Once I saw two Swiss girls beside it, and heard a morsel of 
their dialogue ; 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


325 


“ The hotel at Axenstein is full of English milords and mi- 
ladies, Clarchen.” 

“AcA, I don’t like the English.” 

“Hush, Mddel! It is an Englishman who sleeps below us, 
and he was brave and good, and all the village mourned him 
when he died.” 


CHAPTER XLVHI. 

“ WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO.” 

“ One loving howre 

For many years of sorrow can dispence : 

A dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre.” 

Spenser {Faery Queene'). 

What is harder, after winning a woman’s heart, than to induce 
her to fix the day which is to make you the happiest mortal in 
existence. She puts it off, and haggles and hesitates about it 
to such a degree that a bystander from another world (where, 
it is to be hoped, women are not so coy and not so fond of 
driving you to distraction) would be fully justified in believing 
that the day she is besought to name can be none other than the 
day of her execution. 

Therese was no exception to this rule, and, oh, desperation ! 
I had only one clipped fortnight wherein to find this day and 
take her back to England. 

“ Wouldn’t Monday?” I modestly suggest. 

What was monsieur thinking of ? Would any sensible girl be 
married on a Monday, the most unfortunate day of the week. 

“ Well then, let us say Tuesday.” 

H’m ! Tuesday was not an unsuitable day — taken as a day ; 
but, taken in connection with her few little preparations — 

“ Preparations be hanged !” What on earth had she to do 
but to put on a bonnet and shawl, and walk with me to the 
altar? The rings were provided, were they not? one on her 
biggest finger, ready to be transferred to my smallest ; the other, 
vice versa. 

“ Monsieur, did you forge the rings, or did you bring them 
with you?” 


326 


through love to life. 


“ Never mind the rings ! The question is the day, Therese. 
Keep to the point, mademoiselle.” 

“You would hardly like to marry me in this black dress, 
monsieur ?” 

“ Oh, if it’s the dress, borrow one of Fleurette.” 

“ Or perhaps monsieur has a spare suit and would lend it 
me for the occasion. It would fit me, I think, shortened, better 
than any garment of Fleurette’s.” 

“ Are you pouting, Therese ?” 

“ No, monsieur, I never pout, nor do I pretend to a fine fig- 
ure, but to compare me with Fleurette — ” 

“ Is blasphemy. I know it. She is as lean as a scarecrow, 
while you — ” 

“ If you are going to ridicule my countrywoman, monsieur, and 
one, too, who was my foster-mother, I think you had better go.” 

Imagine how this cruelty cuts me to the heart, for we are under 
the roof of Madame Papillote, to whose protection, faute de 
mieux, I have consigned my treasure, and who acts the part of 
courtship dragon, a la mode Suisse, to perfection. This pres- 
ent interview has been heavily purchased with one of my now 
scanty five-franc pieces. ^ 

“ If you wish me to go,” I say, rising, and in a tone of voice 
which might have softened the dragon herself, whose baleful 
eye is probably even now upon us. 

“Not just yet, monsieur; we must settle this matter first, 
and, indeed, it is time that it was settled.” 

My misery is drowned in joy. She, too, is impatient. 

“ For I have been thinking, monsieur,” she continues, ear- 
nestly, “ that perhaps we are making a grand mistake, and that, 
though I love you so dearly, I am not fit to be your wife.” 

If twenty baleful eyes had been at the keyhole, I should have 
done just the same. There are some impulses we cannot resist. 

I have her in my arms now, and am holding her to my beating 
heart in a clasp which says plainer than words, “ I will not let 
thee go.” 

“ But, monsieur ” — her voice is softer now — “ it is quite true, 
nevertheless. I am a poor, ignorant village girl, and you are a 
great gentleman. I do not know how great people behave. I 
should make you blush for me, and when I saw you blushing I 
should die.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


327 


“When I am ashamed of you, Therese, take a dagger and 
thrust it through my dastard heart.” 

“ It is easy for monsieur to say that, hut I should not like to 
murder — even my husband. I should not like to be hingerichtet 
— what is it they do to poor, miserable sinners in your England, 
which calls itself so great and good, and yet is so cruel, even to 
its women — hanged, monsieur? Oh, I should not like to be 
hanged.” 

“ They should hang me first, Therese.” 

We are talking nonsense, for now our hot cheeks are touch- 
ing, and the tears which flow from my eyes mingle themselves 
with hers, and there is no sense in the world half so sensible as 
this sublime lack of it — this blissful maze of rapturous idiocy, 
wherein we only know that we are^ and are together. 

I haven’t the slightest recollection of what we said during the 
next half-hour. Perhaps Madame Papillote could supply the 
curious reader with the information. She still resides, I believe, 
in the Schauteufelskreuz Strasse, 27 a, Lucerne ; and still entraps 
unfortunate bachelors in the subtle net wherein she entangled 
Moppert. The cat is living too, and, though daily threatened 
with the fate Thereschen fears, still holds that tragic termina- 
tion to its career in abeyance. 

Before I left, Therese did name the day. I think what finally 
induced her to do so was the information of how poor I was. I 
had quite forgotten to tell her until then. I had intended doing 
it, over and over again, but somehow in her presence it seemed 
such an unimportant matter, so ridiculous even, that after the 
first look into her dear eyes I had lost all thought of it. But 
now her evident fear of my riches gave me the desired oppor- 
tunity. 

She was sitting on a wooden footstool at my feet — she always 
would sit at my feet, instead of making me sit at hers, which 
then would not have hurt my vanity, as it does now — and her 
elbows were on my knees, her sweet, upturned face supported 
by her hands, her dark, mysterious eyes full of a grave, solemn 
wonder and amaze at her own joy, and radiant thanks to God 
who gave it. 

It was then I told her that I was poor. 

I declare, I fervently declare, that for all the treasures of Gol- 
conda I would not have missed that sight. For now no worm- 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


.*^28 

ing doubt can ever gnaw away the absolute certainty of being 
loved for my own sake, and not for the sake of my possessions. 

Yet it was in a sort of agony that I watched the color rising 
into her pale cheek and then fading again, and my own lips be- 
gan to tremble at sight of the quivering of hers, until I saw and 
understood that strange, new light in her wonderful eyes, half 
ecstatic joy, half timid apprehension. 

“ Is it true, monsieur, is it quite, quite true ?” 

“ It is as true as the Gospel, my sweet bride, and if you do 
not mind — ” 

“ Mind — oh, my husband ! God forgive me if I ever forget !” 

And the next moment two soft arms are round my neck, and 
dark hair falls about me, and lips, pure as an angel’s, unsolicited 
seek mine, and — 

Let me stop. There is in the heart of every one of us a Holy 
of Holies, into which no other may ever gain admittance. 

Yet let no one crudely imagine that from this time we sub- 
sided into two turtle-doves. Perpetual billing and cooing would 
have suited neither one of us. We were human beings intended 
by a wise Creator to work and live as well as love — ay, and for 
a change, to quarrel too ; just enough to season life without 
spoiling it. Therese scolds me frequently, while I in my turn, 
and in a raised tone of voice, occasionally talk of adopting vig- 
orous measures; reminding my rebellious helpmate with some 
austerity of a grand virtue which the Church requires only of 
the wife. 

At which I usually get only a toss of a naughty head, and a 
flash from two bright eyes full of insubordination, and the re- 
mark that if I want a slave I must look elsewhere. 

“ Aileen is no slave, yet I never hear — ” 

“ Do you think they tell you of all their squabbles, wiseacre ? 
Besides, Aileen is a darling little Englishwoman brought up to 
obedience.” 

“ While you — ” 

“ While I, monsieur, am a Swiss Wildfang, a free citizeness of 
a free republic.” 

“The law, madam, acknowledges no such differences — our 
English law, to which you are now Subject, remember, merges 
you into me. In fact, legally, you have now no existence.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


329 


“ I don’t care a red Heller for your English laws, made for a 
bilious people. And you needn’t look at me like that. You 
knew very well before you married me that I had ‘ a temper 
requiring the severest discipline.’ ” 

I wince a little as she thus slaps me in the face with my own 
words, but reply, with dignity : “ Exactly, and was it not a 
Christian act to undertake the disciplining of it ?” 

At this point the process — a most terrific one — usually com- 
mences. I take Therese upon my knee and chastise her there 
with extreme severity. Yet, strange to say, the only apparent 
result is the consciousness of having done my duty, and the dis- 
covery that duty occasionally is its own reward. 

Oh, me ! how my tongue wags when I begin to talk about 
my wife ! Upon my soul, I believe I’m hen-pecked. Never 
mind ! you and I, dear brethren in the same condition, know 
how infamously it is blackened, and wouldn’t exchange our ser- 
vitude for the freedom of every country in the world. 

We were married on the Tuesday, and I have no more notion 
than the man in the moon (our moon) what she wore, except 
that I supplied no pantaloons, nor Fleurette any garment for the 
purpose. But I know that she looked more lovely than any 
woman ever did before or ever will again. 

The ceremony was performed in a quiet Roman Catholic 
church, and the gentle priest who tied the knot seemed serenely 
indifferent to the fact that he was delivering over a daughter of 
the true faith into the hands of a heretic. Lucerne at that 
time knew next to nothing of religious strife or creed hatred, 
and I dare say a part of the extra fee I paid the simple-minded 
Romish Kaplan was spent in entertaining his neighbor, the Lu- 
theran pastor, to an extra pot in the neutral Schenke where they 
hob-a-nobbed together. 

But oh ! what do you think my wife had the audacity to do 
before we left the sanctuary, dim and odorous from the steam 
of the swinging censers, and without even a “ by your leave ” 
either, which, by the by, I certainly shouldn’t have accorded. 
There are limits, and magnanimity may degenerate into weak- 
ness. 

Why, she went straight from the altar, leaving me a widowed 
and disconsolate bridegroom upon its very steps, threw her 
arms round the bronzed neck of Peter’s Nick (who with Fleur- 


330 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


ette, Madame Papillote, Josef Aufdermauer, and the six lads 
still remaining to him, had been present as intensely interested 
witnesses), and kissed him on the lips before us all, as reverent- 
ly, as earnestly, as beseechingly, as if she had known to its full 
extent (perhaps she did, women have a marvellous intuition) 
what a hero he was. And when the big fellow sobbed out 
aloud in his mingled pain and pleasure, she sobbed too, and 
clung to him instead of me for a moment, and would not be 
comforted. 

I have meant to remonstrate with her for that act ever since, 
but haven’t done it yet. I think I will to-morrow. 

On passing out I stopped to speak to Josef Aufdermauer, and 
to put a trifle (badly as I could afford it) into the bereaved fa- 
ther’s hand for little Josef’s sake. The boy’s mother had gone 
home to God. 

We, too, are going home together, she and I, standing side 
by side upon the deck of the gallant steamer which, with pant- 
ing funnel and wide-spread sails, her prow towards England, is 
straining every timber and creaking in every joint, in the eager- 
ness of her endeavors to get back as speedily as possible to the 
dear old country which, with all its multitudinous faults, is still, 
still, bless her ! the best, the very best, in the whole wide world. 
It is a stormy night, and sea-gulls fly screaming over us ; and 
the wind whistles in the sails and in our deafened ears; and 
the wild waves mount on one another to get a peep at Therese, 
sending salt sea foam to kiss her glowing cheek. 

We are alone : for the man at the helm, one quiet hand upon 
the wheel, is intent upon his duty ; his grave eyes flxed upon 
the waste of waters, his heart, maybe, like mine, turned yearn- 
ingly towards that England we are too proud to praise because 
she is our own. 

We have been chatting merrily, mouth to ear, for the eager 
wind swallows up our words as soon as they are uttered ; and 
sometimes (sweeter language still) mouth to mouth : laying a thou- 
sand plans for making the most of our small means ; determin- 
ing to be as happy as the gods on Olympus, even though our 
daily portion be literally limited to daily bread. 

Then I notice that it is my voice alone mingling itself with 
the roar of the elements, and that Therese is not looking, as I am, 
forward towards our island home, but back again — gazing with 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


331 


intense earnestness at the narrow strip of land, rapidly lessening, 
behind which lies the continent of Europe. 

And is it only the heaving and tossing of our ship upon the 
restless waters which makes her tremble so violently ? I feel her 
heart beating high against mine, and her tender bosom heaves 
under the storm-wind of an intense emotion, and the salt drops 
coursing down her cheeks are not brine from the ocean — -they 
fall hot upon my caressing hand. 

The moon is at its full ; bright and clear and stainless she 
rides, attended by an innumerable retinue ; and the waves mul- 
tiply her beauty in a thousand silvery reflections. I put back 
the hood shrouding the sweet face of my wife, the changes upon 
which make for me a soul’s barometer, and see to my terror and 
amaze that she is strongly agitated — her whole flgure convulsed 
with the violence of her grief. 

“ My darling, what, what is the matter ?” 

I have never seen her cry like that before. I try to clasp her 
to my heart, but am repulsed. Her streaming eyes — her out- 
stretched, yearning hands are turned from me — turned in a pas- 
sion of regret towards the Heimath she has left. 

“ Oh, my father,” she sobs, “ my beloved country ! How can 
I live without you ?” 

I dare not even try to console her. I shrink back and cover 
my face with my hand, all my joy turned into mourning. 

The ship bounds forward joyfully. Every second decreases 
the narrow strip of land behind her. And my wife sobs on at 
my side, her dress touching me, yet still an ocean between us 
— a great gulf which I cannot cross to get to her. 

The ship, true as steel to her rudder, pauses not a moment. 
The waves, rising ever higher, seem to sweep over the narrow 
strip of land, and now it is swallowed up by the great deep. 
Nothing is to be seen but the fathomless ocean, and the fath- 
omless sky above in which the moon and stars ride untroubled. 
Before us is nothing but England— to me, chief among the lands 
upon earth ; to her, a strange country. My wife has ceased to 
sob, but the gulf still yawns between us, and all my joy is turned 
into heaviness. I cannot even mourn, I am so desolate. Pain 
is at its climax ; it has ceased to hurt, it only stupefles me. 

Then — I cannot say after how long a time — Therese turns and 
looks at me. 


332 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


I don’t know whether the man at the helm thinks we are both 
moon-struck. He is stationed there to guide us back to Eng- 
land, and his eye is on the waste of waters, and his hand upon 
the wheel still, when I become conscious of him again. For the 
gulf, impassable to me, which yawned between us, has been 
bridged over in a single second by some magic power God gave 
alone to the woman. Therese is in my arms — she came there ; 
I did not, could not, call her — and she is clinging, oh ! so close 
to me, full of penitence, and saying : 

“ ‘ Whither thou goest, I will go : thy people shall be my peo- 
ple, and thy God my God. 

“ ‘ The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death 
part thee and me.’ ” 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

27 SPINSTER LANE, CLAPHAM. 

“ I know that this was Life — the track 

Whereon with equal feet we fared ; 

And then, as now, the day prepared 
The daily burden for the back. 

“ But this it was that made me move 
As light as carrier-bird in air, 

I loved the weight I had to bear, 

Because it needed help of Love.” 

Tennyson {In Memoriam). 

There is something else to tell ; something I never knew 
until we had been settled down some little time in our narrow 
London home, and after I had begun to discover what it really 
means to be poor. 

For oh ! there were so many, many things wanting in our 
humble home — things I had hitherto believed absolute neces- 
saries, but which Therese declared (after having translated my 
hundred pounds per annum into the more familiar francs, and 
accommodated herself to London prices in the most extraordi- 
nary manner) to be incompatible with my income. 

“ My dear, we must have at least one experienced maid. How 
is it possible for you to manage without ?” 

“ My dear ” — mimicking me, the puss, in her broken English 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


333 . 


— ‘‘ if we keep an experienced maid we shall have to pay her — 
Aileen says so — quite two hundred and fifty francs a year.” 
“Well?” 

“ Veil, wo soil das Geld herkowmen — vare sail de moneys come 
from ?” 

“ I’m not going to let you work like a slave, and spoil your 
pretty hands, whatever else we do without.” 

“ But monsieur does not like to do without anything. Only 
the other day monsieur discovered that he could not live with- 
out a and the fauteuil cost — oh, such a heap of moneys !” 

“ Well, it answers the purpose of two other chairs ; it holds 
us both.” 

^^Leider! I cannot sew one bit now in the evenings, since 
monsieur bought that fauteuil.^'' 

“ Therese, I have something to say to you.” 

“ Veil, monsieur.” 

“ Not veil, say well — ou — ell.” 

“ Ou — ou — ell ! Ach^ welch barbarische Sprache ! Ou — ou — 
ell ; now, what is it monsieur has to say, with that ugly frown ?” 

“ I have two baptismal names, Therese, Charles and Reginald. 
Choose between them. But from henceforth ‘monsieur’ is 
interdicted.” 

“ Interdit — verboten. And monsieur says it with such a frown, 
and his lips are close — oh, so close and straight ! I am wanted 
in the kitchen. I will go.” 

“ No, you won’t, till you’ve done what you are bidden.” 

“You are hurting my hand, monsieur, and how can I speak 
when you close my lips like that, with your ugly Schnurrbart 

“ Charles or Reginald. Make haste !” 

“ Sharrel — Karl. If I had known that you were such a tyrant 
— solch Tyran — I would never — ” 

“ Never have married me — eh ? But you did, you see, and 
can’t undo it. And now, apologize instantly for maligning my 
beautiful moustache.” 

“ Beautiful indeed ! I know you think so, or you wouldn’t 
spend so much time about it every morning. But it’s a poor 
apology for a moustache after all, when you come to compare it 
with that of a German Uhlan officer — with the Hauptmann von 
Uslar’s, for instance — ” 

“ Therese, your nose does turn up.” 


334 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


“It is turning up at your moustache, monsieur.” 

“ Charles, Charles^ Charles !” 

“ Not quite so loud ; the neighbors might hear you.” 

“ Charles, I say Charles.” 

“ Is there any one in the street of that name, monsieur, whose 
attention you wish to attract ?” 

“ Oh, ni tame you,” I mutter, sotto voce. Then aloud : 

“ And pray don’t show yourself in public with Aileen ; your 
sallow skin does contrast so unfavorably with her clear complex- 
ion and matchless English bloom.” 

“ My complexion seemed to satisfy you in Switzerland, mon- 
sieur.” 

“ Well, you see, you had it all your own way there.” 

Therese looks up at me with that peculiar haze in her eyes which 
makes them unlike any other eyes in the world, when we hear 
some one coming along the narrow street whistling, “ The girl I 
left behind me.” We know the postman’s step, we know his 
whistle, and lo ! he is actually knocking at our door. 

“ A letter, monsieur,” cries Therese, the haze in her eyes swal- 
lowed up by the glad light of expectation. 

We both look eagerly towards the door. Letters are rare 
things nowadays. 

In the meantime, Belinda, our maid of all work, shuffles, in 
slippers always hopelessly down at heel, towards the unwonted 
messenger. 

Just a word about Belinda. 

She has just reached that enchanting period of girl-life de- 
nominated as “ sweet seventeen,” an age poets rave about, but 
which we ordinary mortals usually find accompanied by arms 
more or less too lean ; hair more or less rebellious against the 
comb ; feet bursting out of shoes too small for them ; a heart 
doting on ribbons and terribly susceptible to slights — in short, 
sweet to satiety. 

Such, only rather more so, was Belinda. 

I invariably fall over something on returning home from my 
duties as foreign correspondent, for our lobby is dark, and there 
is sure to be a trap laid there for my unwary feet. Sometimes 
it is a scrubbing-brush, sometimes a piece of soap, sometimes an 
over-full pail, sometimes Belinda herself. Then, if I venture the 
remark that this perpetual worship of god Neptune, though a 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


335 


very good thing, may perhaps be carried to excess, the aggrieved 
god gushes at me from Belinda’s eyes. 

She has another rather aggravating peculiarity. However late 
I return, or however severely my knees are broken over these 
various man-traps, she always receives me with the amazed ex- 
clamation, “ You here a’ready, sir !” which seems to convey the 
covert insinuation that my presence is undesired, nay, even an 
intrusion, and that they would be much more comfortable with- 
out me. 

(There is one thing puzzles me — en parenthese — why is it 
that though Belinda adores water, wallows in it, so to say, from 
dewy morn to dewier eve, it never seems to make her anything 
but dirty ? Perhaps some excellent housewife may be able to 
solve this mystery.) 

But what matters it, what matters anything, when the door 
is shut upon Belinda and the whole outside world, and we are 
alone together in the little parlor which she has transformed for 
me into as glorious a Paradise as that wherein Adam courted Eve. 

The room is as dimly lighted as a sanctuary, for we burn 
but one jet of gas to save expense ; but the fire blazes up bright- 
ly ; and the curtains are closely drawn ; and the hum outside is 
sweeter than silence ; and the purr of the white cat upon the 
hearth makes a gentle refrain to the melody we are both chant- 
ing; and the viands before us are transformed into nectar and 
ambrosia, food for gods, such as we are ; and Therese comes 
ever nearer to my heart. 

My wife, my wife ! We have had to bear since then the bur- 
den of riches, and with patience and perseverance we have ac- 
commodated our backs to the load, but we have enjoyed too the 
blessings of poverty, the taste of hardly earned bread, and we 
know which burden is the heavier — we know. We know, and 
thank God for the knowledge, what may be the inexpressible 
delights of a poor man’s home. 

Upon my soul, I am forgetting to tell you about that letter ! 
We hear the postman resume his praises to “The girl he left 
behind him we hear Belinda, after a long interval, slowly .and 
emotionally close the door ; and we get the letter at last — soapy, 
suddy, and exceedingly wet, but otherwise uninjured. 

And let no impulsive reader imagine, with that far-sighted- 


336 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


ness which belongs to impulse, that the letter is from Ballyacora 
Hall, announcing the penitence of an old man who yearns to 
open his heart and home to a forgiven son. Nothing of the 
kind : my father lived many years after the receipt of this let- 
ter, in full possession of his property, his gout, his implacability, 
his determination never to acknowledge, under any circumstances 
whatsoever, either me or my wife. 

No, the letter is a foreign one and has been originally posted 
in Lucerne. 

I say originally, because it has been posted anew several times 
after that. It had been addressed in the first place to Ballyacora, 
sent from thence I know not whither, and now bears in blue 
pencil these words : “ Try 27 Spinster Lane, Clapham.” 

Now 27 Spinster Lane, Clapham, is the hardly palatial resi- 
dence, three doors from Aileen’s, where Therese and I have taken 
up our abode. Rent, nineteen pounds, nineteen shillings per 
annum ; one parlor, front ; one kitchen, back ; one scullery, back- 
est ; two bedrooms, and an attic — the last apartment, Belinda’s 
cubiculum, place of refuge and retreat. How many altars she 
has erected to god Neptune up there, I don’t know. I always 
think of “ up there,” with a sensation of awe, and wonder to 
what degree of responsibility manslaughter extends. The thought 
sometimes strikes me : Suppose Belinda should perish in the as- 
cent or descent of that ladder, what verdict would the coroner 
bring in ? 

But in spite of its drawbacks I was never quite so deliriously 
happy anywhere else, and the little house is still sacred ground 
to me. 

All this time, Therese kneels beside my chair, her dimpled 
elbows on my knees, her soft eyes bright with the eager light of 
expectation. 

“ To whom is it addressed, monsieur ?” 

“ To me, Therese.” 

And I read aloud the somewhat alarming superscription : 

“ Ihro hochwohlgehorenen^ 
deni gnadigen Herrn Milord Smythe, Esk, 

Ireland^ 

zu Ballyacora Hall^ County of CorkB 

“ What does it mean ?” “ Was soil es hedeuten 


TUkOUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


33Y 


We question simultaneously, each in the language most famil- 
iar to us, but there is no intelligible response. 

I cut round the seal, which is so large, and red, and shining, 
and perfect, that it would be next door to sacrilege to break it, 
and read the following : 

“ Berichtigung der Erhschaftsangelegenheiten der gnddigen 
Frau, Milady Smythe, Esk., geborene Frdulein Marie Therese 
Eveline Pascoe, Tochter des weiland William Pascoe, Schenkwirth 
zu Gutsch, Brunnen, Canton Schioyz, Repuhlik Schweiz, also 

Upon getting to the end of which astonishing sentence, I cease 
to read aloud, rapidly scan and absorb the remainder for my 
own edification, and then look down, with eyes as dilated as 
hers, into the bright, upturned, expectant face of my wife. 

“ What is it, monsieur ? Nothing bad, surely ?” 

“ Allow me to assist you to a chair, madam. The impropriety 
of your kneeling at my feet is too enormous to be allowed to 
continue. Do you know who you are ?” 

“ Am I not Therese, your wife ?” 

“ I trust so. I hope we may not receive another legal docu- . 
ment, pointing out that the marriage contract we mutually en- 
tered into was not in accordance with the mysterious laws of 
that incomprehensible Swiss Republic. But you are something 
more than my wife.” 

“ What am I then, monsieur ?” a little frightened. 

“ A gnddige Frau, Therese.” 

' “ Oh, is that all ?” 

“ An English My Lady.” 

“ O weh P' 

“ A great heiress !” 

The landlord of the little schenke at Giitsch had been a pros- 
perous as well as a good man ; and though the thousands of 
francs, put into pounds, did not look quite so many as they 
looked at first, there was enough to remove us forever beyond 
poverty. And there is a love which rises above the considera- 
tion of owing the means of comfortable existence to a wife ! 

We moved into a larger house, got an experienced maid, and 
sent away Belinda to her mother at home. And the years creep- 
ing on extended our narrow circle more and more. First we be- 
came uncle and aunt, then father and mother. It was in this 
22 


338 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


second home that our Charley was born — in this second home 
that the quick, tumultuous current of youthful love widened into 
the broader, more tranquil, but ever deeper love of maturity. 
And oh, how happy — how happy we were ! 


CHAPTER L. 

THE VOICE OF SOCIETY. 

“ Sure, love vindt omnia ; is immeasurably above all ambition, more pre- 
cious than wealth, more noble than name.” — Thackeray iJElmmid), 

My story is nearly finished. Only a few more words, and I 
have done. 

I must tell you a little about my first interview with Aileen 
after I had introduced her to my wife, on which occasion she 
took me as severely to task as if I had only been her husband. 

“ You iniquitous boy,” she began, “ how dared you go and 
say it ?” 

“ Go and say what, Aileen ?” 

“No pretending, sir, you know very well.” 

“ Indeed, I don’t.” 

. “ Why, that she was poky and lean and wore spectacles and 
was a regular blue.” 

“ Oh, I said nothing of the sort.” 

“ Do you mean to deny it, sir T 

“ Absolutely. On my oath, if you wish.” 

“ Oh, oA, OH !” 

“ You, you^ YOU !” 

“ Please to remember, sir, that I am married.” 

“ Please to remember, madam, that I am also.” 

“ And that I have a husband to stick up for me.” 

“ And that I have a wife.” 

“ One a great, great, great deal too good for you.” 

“ Ah, Aileen, I won’t quarrel with that crescendo.” 

“ And a great, great, great deal too pretty.” 

“ Nor with that, though I flatter myself that I am rather a 
decent-looking fellow nevertheless.” 

Aileen glances at my face in the mirror, and the look of sat- 
isfaction in her bright eyes gives the lie direct to her severe 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


339 


words. Then she relents entirely and gets on tip-toe to pull 
my ears and bury her cold little nose in my 'moustache. 

But Charley, dear, you shouldn’t have told me such stories 
about your wife. If you could only see the creature I con- 
jured up.” 

“Really and truly, Aileen, I never said anything about her 
that was not true. It was all you.” 

“ All me, when I had never seen her ? What will you say 
next ?” 

“You are such a rare hand at guessing, you know — find out 
everything.” 

It is always worth while to tease Aileen, if only to bring up 
those beautiful blushes of hers. The cheeks begin it, then the 
little pearly ears catch the infection, until she is all aglow to the 
finger-tips. 

She was all aglow still, when the others, entering, put an end 
to the dialogue. 

Aileen is no exception to her sex. She persists to this hour 
that it was I who first gave utterance to those infamous libels 
on my wife. 

And Malcolmson pretends to believe her. If I didn’t see a 
mischievous twinkle in his eye sometimes, I should think he 
had lost his senses. 

My father died ten years after my marriage. My mother had 
gone before him. 

We were never reconciled. I never saw my father after that 
evening when he drove me from Ballyacora Hall. 

I took my eldest boy, a bright, warm-hearted lad of nine 
years, to attend the funeral with me. Together we knelt by 
the ponderous bed w'hereon the remains of his dead grandfather 
lay. There was a frown upon the dead face, at sight of which 
my boy looked up at me with tears in his eyes, begging me to 
take him home again and have no share in the cruel riches which 
made dead men look like that. 

Then it was that I fully recognized what God had done for 
me, and from what I had been saved. 

The late master of Ballyacora Hall had left several wills be- 
hind him. All — from the first one, dated a few hours after my 
expulsion, to the last — all disinheriting me. 


340 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


It was evident that the sting of my refusal to accede to the 
intensest wish of his life had rankled in the old man’s breast all 
the long years as deeply as when it was inflicted. 

It was evident, too, that he had been keenly alive to the pos- 
sibility of a lawsuit, and as keenly determined that it should be 
unavailing. The wills had been drawn up with scrupulous legal- 
ity — and only needed his signature — which could be added any 
moment. 

But any moment is sometimes no moment. 

“ Bless us,” said the lawyer, “ not one of ’em worth the paper 
it is written on !” And now he looked at me with the respect 
due to a millionaire. “ He’d have ’em drawn up at all hours of 
the day and night, but always fought shy of signing ’em. He’d do 
that when we were gone, he’d say, and let the servants witness 
’em. And to think he’s gone and died and left ’em unsigned !” 

It was too much for the lawyer. He got up and wiped his 
damp forehead and loosened his cravat. 

“ I congratulate you, sir,” he continued. “ I’ve always said 
to my father that ’twas a burning shame, I have — good heavens, 
to think he went and died and never signed ’em !” 

For all his congratulations, I am bound to say he looked bit- 
terly disappointed. 

“ Well, sir,” he said again, with a gulp, “ I con-grat-ii-late 
you, I doy Here he blew his nose, and extended a long-fin- 
gered, lank, and bony hand, muttering, nevertheless, under his 
breath, “ And never signed one of ’em, after all !” 

“ And to think,” he continued, “ that that fine boy of yours 
should inherit in spite of him. Handsome boy, very ! Favors 
you in complexion, sir, but evidently features the mother. Must 
be a most extry-ordinary handsome lady. Well, who’d have 
thought it !” 

He rubbed his closely shaven chin, and congratulated me again. 

“ Is this worth anything ?” I asked, suddenly, handing him a 
crumpled bit of paper I had found in a watch-pocket over my 
father’s bedhead, and which I had been reading. 

He took it from me, glanced at it, read it through, took off 
his spectacles to rub them, and read it again. 

“ Is it worth anything ?” I asked, a little triumphantly, I own. 

“ Worth anything ! My good sir” (how changed his manner 
was !) “ this must not be suppressed.” 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


341 


“ Certainly not.” 

“ He’s drawn it up himself, but I can’t find any flaw in it, and 
— it is signed and witnessed. Signed and witnessed^ 

“ Yes, I saw that.” 

“ My good sir ” (with dignity and some severity), “ I cannot 
allow it to be suppressed.” 

“ Who wants to suppress it ?” I asked, laughing. 

“ Do you know what it means ?” His astonishment at my 
mad levity forced him into straightforwardness. 

“ Yes, I know, and know, too, the weight of the load it takes 
off my back.” And I added, inwardly, “ As for her, bless her ! 
she will know what to do, for all her life she has had but one 
Counsellor — an unerring one.” 

The lawyer lifted his spectacles to look at me again with won- 
dering and uncovered eyes ; then stroked his bristly chin. 

“We might try to prove that he was in his dotage when he 
drew it up.” 

“ He was never more in his right mind,” I said, fervently. 

“You know that the woman is dead?” retorted the baffled' 
lawyer, with sharpness. 

“ I know that she is living. I wrote to her immediately after 
finding this.” 

The lawyer gave it up, evidently. He put his spectacles slowly 
into their case, and rose to go. 

For this will, only dated a few weeks back, was afterwards found 
to be perfectly correct in every particular. It left all the property, 
unconditionally, to my aunt — “ the only living being who had nev- 
er disappointed him — the only living being who was really good.” 

“ And it was from her dear hands, bless her ! bless her ! that 
I received this estate of Ballyacora — the gold seeming to lose its 
tarnish by passing through them. It was by her dear hands 
that my sisters and my cousin Kathe had justice done them. 

And when I add that even my noble brother-in-law, the vis- 
count — who turned up, attended by his valet, tolerably sober, 
to get all he could from everybody — was pleased to call her “ a 
brick — hie — of an old girl, and as lovely an old lady” (mark 
well, lady) “ as the — hie — sun ever shone on,” I am sure every 
one will understand that she knew how to give with discretion 
as well as generosity. 

We have Jived ever since at Ballyacora Hall, 


342 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


^nd the load, at first so heavy, has grown wonderfully light ; 
we have learned not to look back too wistfully to the less en- 
cumbered days which went before. 

As for my Therese, she makes me marvel at the graceful dig- 
nity with which she has adapted herself to her new position. 
Aristocratic noses have ceased to turn up at the parvenue. Aris- 
tocratic ears listen delighted to the sweet, decisive words with 
which she sets Society’s laws, when she chooses, at defiance. The 
Schenkwirth’s Tochterlein might become a leader of fashion if 
she chose ; but, thank Heaven ! she doesn’t choose. 

In a word, my wife, though I say it myself, astonishes me 
every day by the magnificent way in which she keeps a clear 
head and steady foot amid rocks and precipices innumerable, 
and grows more love — 

No, I won’t say it myself. I’ll let my noble brother-in-law 
take the words out of my ignoble mouth. Listen, then, to the 
voice of Society, hiccupping out of the aristocratic lips of his 
lordship. Viscount Kilreeny. 

“ By Jove, Smythe, old fl’ah, I wish I had the doosed luck to 
stand in your — er — shoes. I never saw such a tidy bit of — er 
— mean, lovely woman. Lovely woman, stooping to folly, you 
know. Used to be a — er — crack hand at the poets. And she’s 
got some life in her and — er — warmth. Statues nice to look at 
— have got no end of ’em at Kilreeny Castle. My father was a 
thorough — er — what d’ye call it, in that line ; works of art, you 
know — but when you are married to a — er — block of marble, 
’tis (in confidence) shivery, doosedly shivery. ’Pon honor, if 
I’d had the chance, I’d have spoiled your little game, and made 
your wife into a — hie — viscountess.” 

I rather think, though, that Therese would have declined the 
honor of being made into a hie — viscountess. 

Aileen and her husband are as happy as ever, though the top 
of the ladder is not yet reached. But Gerald Malcolmson is 
making a name in his profession, and the tiny house at Clapham 
is now tenanted by two tinier spinster ladies who harmonize bet- 
ter with the feminine character of the neighborhood. 

Mabel is married to a very learned professor, who says he has 
the cleverest wife in the three kingdoms. The world adds that 
she writes half of his books, and crams him for the other half; 
but the world occasionally talks scandal. 


THROUGH LOVE TO LIFE. 


343 


The beautiful Countess of Mandelsloh — our cousin Kathe — 
still lives with my aunt. More than one admiring suitor has 
tried to gain the treasure, but she will listen to none. Her 
whole life is devoted to the reparation of her father’s wrong, 
and the mutual love between her and our aunt is wonderful to 
see. They are all in all to each other. 

Besides, though she has never told me so, I know that, even 
in his grave, she still loves Prince Eberhard. 

My aunt is very old now, and very feeble, and I fancy the 
younger lady fades with her. I fancy they will go to heaven 
together. 

There is a great problem agitating men’s minds just now : 
“ Is life worth the living ?” 

Yes. I dare say so, because I know it is true. Yes, with 
love. 

Good-bye ! God bless you ! 


THE END. 


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By CAPT. CHARLES KING 


A WAR-TIME WOOING. Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum. 
pp. iv., 196. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 

BETWEEN THE LINES. A Story of the War. Illustrated 
by Gilbert Gaul. pp. iv., 312. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 

In all of Captain King’s stories the author holds to lofty ideals of man- 
hood and womanhood, and inculcates the lessons of honor, generosity, 
courage, and self-control. — Literary Worlds Boston. 

The vivacity and charm which signally distinguish Captain King’s 
pen. ... He occupies a position in American literature entirely his own. 
. . . His is the literature of honest sentiment, pure and tender. . . . His 
heroes and his charming heroines are the product of the army, and it is 
pleasant to meet, even in this intangible way, women who can break their 
hearts and men who would die rather than sacrifice their honor. — N. Y. 
Press. 

A romance by Captain King is always a pleasure, because he has so 
complete a mastery of the subjects with which he deals. . . . Captain 
King has few rivals in his domain. . . . The general tone of Captain King’s 
stories is highly commendable. The heroes are simple, frank, and sol- 
dierly ; the heroines are dignified and maidenly in the most unconvention- 
al situations. — Epoch., N. Y. 

All Captain King’s stories are full of spirit and with the true ring about 
them. — Philadelphia Item. 

Captain King’s stories of army life are so brilliant and intense, they 
have such a ring of true experience, and his characters are so lifelike and 
vivid that the announcement of a new one is always received with pleas- 
ure. — New Haven Palladium. 

Captain King is a delightful story-teller. — Washington Post. 

In the delineation of war scenes Captain King’s style is crisp and vig- 
orous, inspiring in the breast of the reader a thrill of genuine patriotic fer- 
vor. — Boston Commonwealth. 

Captain King is almost without a rival in the field he has chosen. . . . 
His style is at once vigorous and sentimental in the best sense of that 
word, so that his novels are pleasing to young men as well as young 
women. — Pittsburgh Bulletin. 

It is good to think that there is at least one man who believes that all 
the spirit of romance and chivalry has not yet died out of the world, and 
that there are as brave and honest hearts to-day as there were in the 
days of knights and paladins. — Philadelphia Record. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

tW Either of the above works sent hy mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
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CONSTANCE F.WOOLSON’S NOVELS. 


EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

CASTLE NOWHERE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. {A New 
Edition^ ■ 

RODMAN THE KEEPER. Southern Sketches. 
16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (A New Edition^ 

There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson’s writing 
which invests all her characters with lovable qualities. — Jewish Ad- 
vocate, Y. 

Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting 
magazine stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the de- 
lineation of her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of 
local life. — Jewish Messenger, N. Y. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist 
laureate. — Boston Globe. 

Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, 
and conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the develop- 
ment of a story is very remarkable — London Life. 

Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox 
novelist, but strikes a new and richly loaded vein which, so far, is 
all her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh 
sensation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleas- 
ant task of reading it is finished. The author’s lines must have 
fallen to her in very pleasant places; or she has, perhaps, within 
herself the wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so 
freely into all she writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate 
the moral tone of the day — a quality sadly wanting in novels of the 
time. — Whitehall Review, London. 


Published by HARPER k BROTHERS, New York. 

Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United 
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WILLIAM BLACK’S NOVELS. 


LIBRARY ' EDITION. 

• 12mo, Cloth, $1 26 per vol. Complete Sets, 19 vols., $22 00; Half Calf, $4T 60. 


A DAUGHTER OP HETH. 

A PRINCESS OF THULE. 

GREEN PASTURES AND PICCA- 
DILLY. 

IN PAR LOCHlBEK. 

IN SILK ATTIRE. 

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. Illustrated. 
KILMENY. 

MACLEOD OP DARE. Illustrated. 
MADCAP VIOLET. 

SABINA ZEMBRA. 


SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated. 
STRANGE ADVENTURES OP A 
PHAETON. 

SUNRISE. 

THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Ill’d. 
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OP 
A HOUSE-BOAT. Illustrated. 
THREE FEATHERS. 

WHITE HEATHER. 

WHITE WINGS. Illustrated. 
YOLANDE. Illustrated. 


PAPER EDITION. 

A DAUGHTER OP HETH. 8vo, 35 cents. 

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GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. 8vo, 60 ceuta. 

IN PAR LOCHlBER. 8vo, 40 cents. 

IN SILK ATTIRE. 8vo, 35 cents. 

JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. 4to, 20 cents. 

KILMENY. 8vo, 35 cents. 

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MADCAP VIOLET. 8vo, 60 cents. 

SABINA ZEMBRA. 4to, 20 cents. 

SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 

STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 8vo, 50 cents. 

SUNRISE. 4to, 20 cents. 

THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 

THE MAID OP KILLENA, THE MARRIA*GE OP MOIRA FERGUS, anii 
Otuf.b Stokies. 8vo, 40 cents. 

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THREE FEATHERS. Illustrated. Svo, 60 cents. 

WHITE HEATHER. 4to, 20 cents. 

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YOLANDE. Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents. 


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THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 

By Lew. Wallace, Author of “Ben-Hur,” &c. 14 Full- 

page Engravings on Plate Paper. 4to, Ornamental 
Leather Covers, $3 50. {In a Box.) 


The story is told by an earnest, loving reader of the Gospels, and 
the effort to present the actual life of Christ in his youth is rever- 
ent, judicious, and full of interest. — Chrutian Union, N. Y. 

This sumptuous work is superlative in more respects than one. . . . 
It is such a bit of fine and fluent story-telling as we are sure no one 
could write but the author of “ Ben-Hur.” It is the boy Christ who 
figures in these pages, none other. — Philadelphia Press. 

A most interesting and pleasant book for old and young alike, and 
will be a permanent companion to “ Ben-Hur ” — Lutheran Observe?', 
Philadelphia. 

A magnificent book. . . . The subject is treated in that reverent 
yet familiar narrative style which has made General Wallace so well 
known and liked, and the illustrations are worthy of the peculiar 
grandeur of the subject. The whole forms a work of art which is 
unique even among the many fine productions of the modern press. 
— St. Lo?iis Republic. 

The style of the work is simple and graceful, the spirit of it is 
reverent and helpful, and it impresses forcibly the reality of the tie 
of humanity between Jesus and ourselves, and there are many and 
very fine illustrations. — The Congregationalist, Boston. 

What history, art, and travel may contribute to help clear and 
vivid portraiture and description is familiar to the author, and he 
has all the sympathetic and tender imagination to give them power. 
— Boston Globe. 

A real spirit of reverence pervades the narrative, and extends from 
the narrator throughout his young audience. . . .The publication is 
very beautiful. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

tW" Habpkr & Brothkrs icill send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


HARPER’S FRANKLIN SQUARE LIBRARY-Continned. 


CENTS. 


64.*). Autobiography of Leigh Hunt 

646. Clare of Claresmede. A Novel. By Charles Gib- 
bon 

547. The Touchstone of Peril. By R. E. Forrest 

54 S. This Man’s Wife. By George Manville Fenn. . . 
549. Paston Carew. By E. Lynn Linton 

650. Sir James Appleby, Bart. By K. S. Macquoid. . 

651. The Children of Gibeou. By Walter Besant 

552. King Solomon’s Mines. By H. Rider Haggard. 
653. Mohawks. ANovel. By Miss M. E. Braddou. . 

564. The Son of His Father. By Mrs. Oliphant 

5.55. A Daughter of the People. By G. M. Craik 

556. A Wilful Yonwg Woman. ANovel 

557. The World Went Very Well Then. A Novel. By 

Walter Besant. Profusely Illustrated 

65S. She. By H. Rider Haggard. Profusely lll’d. . . 
6.59. John W'estacott. ANovel. By James Baker.. 

660. The Girl in the Brown Habit. By Mrs. Kennard. 

661. Dorothy Forster. ANovel. By Walter Besant. 

662. Devon Boys. By G. M. Fenn. Illustrated 

^ 663. A Near Relation. ANovel. By C. R. Coleridge 
*664. Elizabeth’s Fortune. A Novel. By Bertha Thomas 
.^665. Gladys Fane. By T. W’emyss Reid 

666. The Fawcetts and Garods.' By Saimath 

^■667. Jess. A Novel. By H. Rider Haggard 

66S. Springhaven. ANovel. By .1. D. Blackmore. . 
j6U>9. The Merry Men, <fcc. By Robert L. Stevenson. . 
570. Kidnapped.— Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 
Hyde. — Treasure Island. By R. L. Stevenson. 

671. The Golden Hope. By W. Clark Russell 

572. The Woodlanders. By Thomas Hardy 

673. Sabina Zeinbra. A Novel. By William Black. 

674. The Bride of the Nile. By Georg Ebers 

675. Knight-Errant. ANovel. By Edna Lyall 

676. Charles Reade. A Memoir 

677. Amaryllis at the Fair. By Richard Jefferies... 

67S. Garrison Gossip. By John Strange Winter 

679. Glow-worm Tales. By James Pay n 

6S0. In the Name of the Tzar. By J. Belford Dayne. 
5S1. Next of Kin — Wanted. By Miss M. B. Edwards 

•682. Marrying and Giving in Marriage. A Novel. 

' By Miv. Molesworth 

^83. To Call Her Mine. By Walter Besant. lll’d. . . 

|[^84. Disappeared. By Sarah Tytler 

|_6S5. Amor Vincit A Novel. By Mrs. Herbert Martin 

RS6. A Lost Reputation. A Novel 

fc7. A Choice of Chance. By William Dobson 

1688. 99 Dark Street. ANovel. By F. W. Robinson. 
|6S9. Present Position of European Politics. By Sir 

r Charles W. Dilke 

J690. “V. R;” Or, q’he Adventures of Three Days in 
' 1837 (With Two Nights Between). By E. Rose. 

691. Jacobi's Wife. A Novel. By Adelitie Sergeant 

592. The Holy Rose. ANovel. By Waller Besant. . 

593. The O’Donnells of Inchfawn. A Novel. By 

L.T. Meade. With One Illustration 

,594. Pri.son Life in Siberia. By Fedor DostoTeffsky. 

Translated by H. Sutherland Edwards 

*695. In Bad Hands, and Other Stories. By F. W. 

: Robinson.... 

ii696. Weeping Ferry. ANovel. By George Hal se.. . 
697. Essays and Leaves from a Note -Book. By 

i; George Eliot 

l!598. More True Than Truthful. A Novel. By Mrs. 

j Charles M. Clarke 

'699. A Book for the Hammock. By W. Clark Russell 
i 600. The Great World. ANovel. By J<^seph Hatton. 

; 601. Diane De Breteuille. A Love Story. By Hubert 

E. H. Jerningham 

! 602. Madame’s Granddaughter. By Prances M. Peard 
l'603. Paddy at Home {‘•'•Chez Paddy"). By Baron E. He 
I! Mandat-Grancey. Translated by A. P. Morton. 

; 604. An Ugly Duckling. A Novel. By Henry Erroll 

i 605. A Fair Crusader. A Story of To-’day. By Will- 

ii iara Westall 


20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

25 

25 

20 

20 

20 

25 

20 

20 

20 

20 

15 

25 

15 

20 

20 

20 

20 

25 

20 

25 

15 

15 

20 

15 

20 


15 

15 

15 

20 

15 
20 

16 

20 

15 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 


20 . 

20 

20 

15 

16 

20 

20 

20 


CENTS. 


606. One that Wins. A Novel. By the Author of 

“ Whom Nature Leadeth” 20 

607. The Frozen Pirate. A Novel. By W. Clark 

♦ Russell. Illustrated 25 

608. Friend MacDonald and the Land of the Monn- 

seer. By Max O’Rell 20 

609. Her Two Millions. A Novel. By William 

Westall. Illustrated 25 

610. M6re Suzanne, and Other Stories. By Katha- 

rine S. Macquoid 20 

611. In Exchange for a Soul. A Novel. By Mary 

Linskill 20 

612. Character. By Samuel Smiles 20 

613. Katharine Regina. A Novel. By Walter Besant 15 

614. Miser Farebrother. ANovel. By B. L. Farjeou. 

, Illustrated 25 

615. Thrift. By Samuel Smiles 20 

616. For the Right. A Novel. By Karl Emil Fran- 

zes. Translated by Julie Suiter. With a Pre- 
face by George Macdonald, LL.D 30 

617. Only a Coral Girl. ANovel. By Gertrude Forde 30 

618. Herr Paulus. A Novel. By Walter Besant 35 

619. The Life of William L, Emperor of Germany 

and King of Prussia. Illustrated *. 10 

620. Joyce. ANovel. By Mrs. Oliphant 35 

621. Wessex Tales. By Thomas Hardy 35 

622. The Strange Adventures of a House-Boat. A 

Novel. By William Black. Illustrated 60 

623. The Mystery of Mirbridge. A Novel. By James 

Payn. Illustrated 50 

624. The Fatal Three. A Novel. By M. E. Braddou 30 

625. Through the Long Nights. A Novel. By Mrs. 

E. Lynn Linton 25 

626. The Eavesdropper. A Novel. By James Payn 25 

627. The Rebel Rose. ANovel 40 

628. The Mediation of Ralph Hardelot. A Novel. 

By William Minto -. 30 

629. In Far Lochaber. A Novel. By William Black 40 
6.30. The Inner House. ANovel. By Walter Besant 30 

631. Yule-Tide Stories and Pictures 25 

632. A Christmas Rose. ANovel. ByR.E.Francillon. 30 

633. The 'Countess Eve. ANovel. By J. H. Short- 

house 25 

634. For Faith and Freedom. A Nu>vel. By Walter 

Besant. Illustrated 50 

635. The Peril of Richard Pardon. A Novel. By 

B. L. Farjeou. Illustrated 30 

636. When a Man’s Single. A Tale of Literary Life. 

By J. M. Barrie 35 

637. The W’eaker Vessel. A Novel. By D. Christie 

Murray. Illustrated 60 

638. Toilers of Babylon. ANovel. B. L. Farjeou . . 40 

639. A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylin- 

der. Illustrated 50 

640. French Janet. A Novel. By Sarah Tytler 30 

641. A Dangen.’us Catspaw. Al^ovel. By D. Chris- 

tie Murray and Henry Murray 30 

642. Lady Bluebeard. A Novel. By the Author of 

“Zit and Xoe.” 40 

643. The Country Cousin. A Novel. By Frances 


iTiai y X crti -Av 

644. The Phantom Future. A Novel. By Henry S. 

Merriman 35 

64.5. Fraternity. A Romance 85 

646. TheNetherWorld. ANovel. By George Gissing. 45 

647. Zit and Xoe. A Novel. By the Author of 

“ Lady Bluebeard.” 25 

648. Micah Clarke. ANovel. By A. Conan Doyle. 45 

649. Cleopatra. A Novel. By H. Rider Haggard. 

Illustrated 25 

650. The Dav W^ill Come. ANovel. By Miss Braddon 45 
6.51. Birch Dene. A Novel. By W^illiam Westall. 45 

652. Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. ANovel. ByTasma 40 

653. Through Love to Life. A Novel. By Gillan 

Vase 40 


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ji 

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